Misguided Ghosts
by xx Bewitching x3
Summary: Chlerek. At the last minute, Tori bails on her and Chloe's cross-country road trip to Hollywood, leaving Simon to take her place. But Simon soon hijacks the whole trip - and takes it upon himself to invite his brother and Chloe's ex, Derek. R&R!
1. Let The Flames Begin

_**Disclaimer**__: Never have I ever claimed ownership of the Darkest Powers series, which belongs to Kelley Armstrong. Ditto for the song lyrics, which belong to Paramore. _

**A/N**: First off, thanks to the people who are _still_ reviewing and favoriting my other Chlerek fanfiction, Underdog. Typically the response for one of my stories dies out a month or so after it's finished, but Underdog's been getting steady reviews all summer! The Darkest Powers fandom constantly astounds me - you're all so nice and talented and supportive! Keep on keeping' on! :)

Cutting to the chase: I'm not sure if I like the premise of this story yet, so if you like it, let me know. If enough people are interested, I'll likely post a new chapter every week, probably on Fridays.

Enjoy or destroy. ;) - Christine

* * *

**Misguided Ghosts  
**_by xx bewitching x3_

* * *

**.: **_**one **_**:.**

_What a shame we all became  
__Such fragile broken things  
__A memory remains  
__Just a tiny spark…_

"You're kidding me."

"No," Tori said through my cell phone. I couldn't tell if her voice crackled from bad reception or a bad attitude. "I'm serious. I can't make it."

"Why not?"

She huffed, but I waited. If her story changed, I'd know she was lying, and would continue on as planned: get in the car, kidnap her, and drive the however many miles to Hollywood, California. Of course, I wasn't even packed yet, so this would have to wait until tomorrow.

But she didn't say anything.

"I'm waiting," I prodded, despite knowing that prodding Tori Enright was probably as smart as stomping on a hornet's nest.

"Chloe, I _told_ you," she said. "I have to go to work."

I opened my mouth to call her bluff, but then snapped it shut. It was the same story every time, so either she was telling the truth or chose a brilliantly simple story. I looked for the plot holes. "Since when is work more important than a vacation?"

"Since now." I imagined her preening like a proud bird as I paced around my apartment. "Since I started at Apple."

I wanted to groan, but quickly checked the reflex. Apple, Apple, Apple. I would never eat one again if she kept going on about that store. What was so great about being surrounded by electronics all day? Could you really love wiping the millions of fingerprints off all the new iPads? Apparently, you could. Or at least Tori did.

"Look," she said, her heavy sigh too loud in my ear. "Why don't you take someone else? Simon is free-"

"No. Not Simon. Definitely not."

"Yeah, I wouldn't want to take him either, but we barely tolerate each other at dinner. At least you two get along."

"No. Not happening."

"You can't just go alone-"

"I wasn't going to until you went and got all... _responsible_ on me."

She sighed. "I know, the role reversal shocked me, too."

Again, I bit back the groan. Tori and I may be close, but sometimes that was a bad thing. I could go on Montel or Jerry Springer and headline an episode called 'My Best Friend is a Bitch'.

When I didn't have a comeback, she switched gears and asked, "Seriously, why not Simon? You guys aren't having some stupid nerd fight are you?"

"No." We weren't. "We just don't talk much anymore." Which she already knew.

"Why not?"

"I don't know."

I could see her rolling her eyes. "Because of Derek, right?"

"No." But I answered too quickly; she was already cursing at my immaturity.

Okay, maybe I was being immature. For once in my whole twenty-two years on the planet, I, Chloe Saunders, was acting immature. And only a little bit. It wasn't like I was going out of my way to avoid Simon - or Derek. I still saw them every year on the holidays and I still visited for birthdays. I was a regular guest at the Bae-Souza household all the way up until last year, and only then did things get… well, awkward.

"It's been _two_ _years_ for crying out loud-"

"One," I corrected, bristling. I sorted through the pile of clothes on my bed, trying to decide what to pack, or if I even should, now that I was apparently going solo.

"Okay, one year, and you're still pining after Wolf Boy. Get over it." She swore under her breath. "Geez, no wonder Christmas was so boring. You were too obsessed with giving each other the silent treatment."

"He was giving me dirty looks, what was I supposed to do? Smile and ask about the weather?"

It was quiet, and I knew she didn't want to talk about it anymore. We'd already spent almost a whole year talking about the… "falling out" between Derek and I. There's only so many new things to say about something like that. "Never mind. I've got to get up early tomorrow, I can't sit on the phone arguing with you."

I perked up. "Changed your mind I see?"

She snorted. "No. I've got the morning shift. Are you going to take Simon?"

"No." Nothing against Simon, but I'd rather go alone than be reminded of why I was leaving in the first place.

"Get over it, Saunders."

I went for my favorite tease: "Make me, _Bae_."

"Stop. Calling. Me. That." I felt my phone heat up, and wondered what sort of long distance spell she'd learned. "I'm still my mother's daughter."

"Clearly."

After a few more jabs, we said our goodnights and got off the phone. I tossed my cell onto the bed, the heap of clothes on top of it still demanding attention. I sighed. There was really no reason not to invite Simon. Someone should come, at least to share the driving. And Tori was right - we did get along. Simon was my closest friend for years until…

_Exactly_, I thought. _Until you broke up with Derek._

"I think you should invite him," said a voice behind me that helped wipe the frown off my face. I glanced over my shoulder and smiled.

"Hey, Liz."

"Hi," she said. She still wore the nightgown and socks she died in, and hadn't aged a bit. It was depressing to look at her, and than catch my reflection in the mirror - I was a little taller, a little fuller, and my hair had grown out and was back to its original strawberry blonde - and realize how much time had passed, and how much had been taken away from her. But seeing her smile helped soften any guilt. "You should take him," she repeated, coming to sit on the bed. As much as a ghost can sit, anyway.

"You were listening?"

She nodded, sinking through the clothes until she looked like a heap of dirty laundry with a head. "I visit him sometimes, you know. Even though he can't see me. He still thinks you're friends."

I frowned. "That's what worries me."

"Whatcha mean?"

"Well." I started going through the clothes a little more honestly now. Anything that traveled well and could stand a few wrinkles went in the open suitcase at my feet. Everything else went in the hamper. "If Simon and I are friends-"

"Aren't you?"

"Yeah, I guess... Just not as good as we used to be." She let me hesitate over a few pairs of jeans before asking me to go on. "If Simon and I are friends, that means we'll be hanging out more."

"So?"

"So that means we'll probably be hanging out at his place. Or Kit's house."

"So?"

"_So_," I said, eyeing her and giving her a tiny mental shove. She grinned. "So those are two of _his_ favorite places to go."

"Him being Derek."

"Yes."

She paused. "Well that's stupid."

I huffed. Even my dead friends thought I was being an idiot.

But maybe I was. Simon and Derek were two separate people, even if they were frequently attached at the hip. Derek would just have to share. Why should he get everything in the break-up? That's why they invented joint custody.

I tossed another shirt into the suitcase. "I'll think about it, okay?"

"Better hurry," she said, pointing at the clock. "It's late, and if you're leaving in the morning…"

"Yeah, I know."

"Good."

She disappeared, but a second later she materialized beside me.

"And one more thing."

This time, I really did groan. "What?"

She pulled one of my shirts out of the suitcase, holding it up like a used tissue. "_Please_ do not take this to Hollywood."

Sigh. I snatched it away from her, ignoring her smirk. "Fine, oh wise Fashion Oracle."

She laughed, and when the shirt hit the hamper, she was gone.

* * *

Years of being with Derek had taught me a few things - most importantly, _always have a plan_. But what I'd been planning for the past twelve months didn't seem so thought out on the morning of my departure.

UCLA. That had been the dream, the plan, back when I was just a normal human being and didn't know I could talk to ghosts. But being on the run has a way of changing your perspective on things like college. I wasn't worried about GPAs and scholarships; I was too busy making sure my family and I had a place to sleep and food to eat, or whether or not we could stay there longer than a month.

Technically, I wasn't with family for those few years after discovering I was a necromancer. Aunt Lauren was, of course, my aunt and flesh and blood. But the others were a mixture of bond and friendship that made me feel more at home than Dad's well-staffed condos ever had. Simon became my best friend and practically my brother, while Tori and I found ways to relate _and_ pester each other to keep ourselves entertained. Mr. Bae - he preferred Kit after all these years - treated me like the uncle I'd never had.

And then there was Derek. My first boyfriend. My first _ex_-boyfriend.

Let's just say we're all young and stupid at some point. My naïve stupidity had just cost me the closeness with the best people I'd ever known.

When Derek and I broke up, I had gone straight to Tori's. Simon would be Derek's confidante, so I took the next best thing - or the complete opposite _worst_ thing, depending on your perspective. She let me bad-mouth him and curse and cry about everything I'd wasted and wanted with him, how I'd given up UCLA to stay closer to the group and him. She let me try and fail to fall asleep on her couch. And when that first worst night became that hardest morning, she handed me a soda and said I needed to suck it up.

"This is stupid," she said, a cup of coffee steaming in her hands, warming up her own broken-hearted resentment. She was tired, I was tired, and the haze of it all made it feel like a dream. "We're being stupid. We need to fix it. Screw our lives. Screw men. Screw futures out of reach. Let's get in a car and drive from one ocean to the next and compare shades of blue. Let's get back to simple."

So started the Great Escape, and our plan to spend the following summer in Hollywood. We'd leave right after I graduated from Emerson College in Boston - where I'd gotten in on my father's dime. We scrimped and saved and planned out every possibility, cursing men and their rotten ways every chance we could.

That is, until Tori got a new boyfriend, who hooked her up with her new job at Apple, and treated her like a princess no matter how angry she got, who actually kept her from getting angry in the first place.

Suddenly swearing over the opposite sex wasn't something she wanted to partake in anymore.

I wasn't so lucky.

I looked around my apartment that morning and wondered whether or not I should just pack up the whole place and leave for good. I'd have to scramble to get a moving van and explain to Dad and Aunt Lauren why my vacation would be permanently extended, but the thought sounded so good that it almost seemed worth the trouble.

I could start over. I could be upset.

And I could get over it.

"Try it first," Liz said. She materialized in my sight, but off to the side, as if she knew I wouldn't want to look her in the eye.

When I didn't say anything, she said, "Try it first. You might not like it, so you should make sure first."

"I don't think I could like it any less there than here."

She shrugged, and fiddled with the hem of her nightgown. "You should take Simon. I'm worried about you."

But taking a co-pilot made the trip a lot less appealing now.

I gathered my bags and dragged them down to my little silver Dodge Neon. It was a piece of junk, and Dad had offered to buy me a new Taurus, but this had been the first big purchase I'd ever made with my own money. Derek had helped me fix it up, and unlike our relationship, with a little tune up here and there, it was pretty reliable.

I threw the bags into the backseat, and when I slammed the door shut to check the apartment one last time, a voice that belonged to the living called loud enough to wake the dead. "Chloe! Wait up!"

I jumped, of course, but turned to catch Simon running through the parking lot, a duffel bag swung over his shoulder. The car that dropped him off was a deep purple - Tori's - and with a rev of the engine, it sped off towards the highway.

"Good," he panted as he reached me, blonde hair looking too bright against the cloudy sky behind him. He was smiling, though. "We thought you might've left already."

"No," I hedged, frowning. "Was just about to lock up. Um…" I gave him a look, and he laughed.

"What am I doing here, right?"

"Yeah."

He grinned, dropped the duffel and fell into a deep bow. "I am here by request of Tori, the Queen of Bad Timing, to accompany you on your vehicular travels across the country and to the Land of The Stars. And Botox." He looked up, looking a little worried. "If you'll take me, of course. But, um, if you don't, I'll need a ride home, because Tori just took off and…"

"And left you stranded like a homeless runaway?"

"Basically."

I sighed. "Get in the car, but don't get comfortable. I'm taking you home."

"Oh come _on_, Chloe!" He darted in front of me, blocking the path to my door. "We never do anything anymore. And I could use some sun." He opened the car door and tossed his duffel in the backseat, and added, "Besides, Dad thinks it's a good idea, too. He's afraid you won't come back if you get a taste of the west coast. Then _we_ won't get a taste of those cookies you always bring over-"

It was either my annoyance or impatience that persuaded me to let the zombie out of the grave. "You know those are store-bought cookies."

He paused, giving me a wide-eyed stare. Then he shook his head and went back to rearranging the bags. "Lies, all lies," he muttered, and then I'd had it.

"Simon, get in the car and stop touching my things. You're going home."

"Nope." A flick of the wrist and a whispered word, and my keys went from my hand to his. "I'm driving."

"You can't hijack my whole trip-"

"I'm not. Tori gave me her money, and I have some from the e-comics I've been working on-"

"Tori _gave_ you money?" I swore. "She _bribed_ you?"

"No!" he said, frowning for the first time since arriving. "It's on loan. I have to pay her back. But I've wanted a vacation for a while anyway, so what's the difference?"

"You're not coming."

"Why the hell not?" he said. He slammed the door shut, and I didn't know what to say.

But there it was, right? Why not? What were my options? Either go on my own and probably leave for good, permanently giving up everything I loved the most, or go with Simon and try and fix what was left of one of my best friendships. I doubted Tori was that kind, but maybe she had a point in dropping her half-brother off so unceremoniously. The question was sprung almost instantly: _why the hell not?_

I faltered, and that was enough for him to smile. "See? You can't think of a good reason. So I'm coming." He jingled the keys. "And if that doesn't convince you, I'll pay for gas."

I raised a brow. "Really?"

"Really."

I bit my lip. Money _was_ tight…

I stuck out my hand. "Deal." We shook on it, and as soon as his hand was free, he opened the driver-side door and got behind the wheel.

I went back up to my apartment, turned off all the lights, and felt a little free. I hadn't made an impulsive decision in almost seven years. Maybe this was another way of starting over.

Liz showed up as I locked the front door. "Drive safe," she said. Her grin was twice the size of the one she wore last night. I timidly returned it. "I don't want to see you on my side for a long time, okay?"

"Okay," I agreed. We paused, watching each other for awhile. It was the closest thing we could do to a hug.

"See you later, Liz," I said.

"I'll check in when I can." She winked, and then she was gone.

* * *

Our first stop was at the gas station, and Simon did go in to pay. When he came back, I watched him through the window as he pumped gas - and made a muffled phone call.

Then he was back behind the wheel, his brows raised in a question. "So…"

"So?"

He hesitated, but only for a second. "Do you think we have room for one more?"

"One more what?"

"Passenger," he said, and my stomach dropped. So much for being a good idea.

"No, absolutely not-"

"Please, Chloe? I owe someone a favor and this is the perfect opportunity to repay them. Please? I'll pay their way, you won't have to worry about a thing-"

Yeah, sure, except that the more people came, the more reasons I'd be forced to come home.

"They won't even come for the whole trip, I only have to take them as far as Chicago."

"That's completely out of my way!"

He tapped the fuel gauge on the dash, grinning. "But I'm paying for the gas, remember?"

I fumed. I sat back, crossed my arms, and stared out the window. I was going to kill Tori when I got home.

"Good," Simon said, taking my silence as a surrender. "It'll be fun, trust me."

We drove for a little while, eventually pulling up to a dirtier version of my apartment complex. The cars in the lot were all casualties of door dings and smashed fenders, and the white buildings were closer to the smoggy color in the sky than anything else. The landscaping was non-existent, but off to the side was an empty lot covered in lush green grass. Beyond that was a forest, with fog woven between the tree trunks.

"You really lowered your standards, huh?" I mumbled as we pulled into an empty parking space. Knowing Simon, we were probably picking up his newest girlfriend. I hadn't met her, but Tori said she was nice, and smarter than most of the girls Simon seemed interested in. At least that was something.

Simon didn't answer; he just threw the car in park and honked the horn.

We waited. And waited. And then eventually a figure appeared in the shadowed corridor in front of us. I sat a little straighter, and tried to mask whatever expression was on my face with pleasant indifference. No sense in making someone else uncomfortable, right?

But then the figure was closer, and from the silhouette, you could tell that it wasn't Simon's girlfriend we were picking up. As soon as I thought it, the person paused, and Simon grinned. He opened the door and stood beside the car, waving.

"Derek! Where's your stuff? If we don't leave now we'll hit all the traffic!"

My face fell. I didn't have Derek's supersonic hearing, but if I knew anything, we were both saying the same thing under our breath.

"Shit."


	2. Ignorance

_**Disclaimer**__: Still don't own Darkest Powers. Still don't own the lyrics. I forever bow down to Kelley Armstrong and Paramore. :)_

**A/N**: Thanks for the response you guys! Here's the next chapter — hope you like it. :D

Oh, and before anyone asks, yes, this was written exclusively to Paramore songs. I'm writing this at the end of my craziest summer yet, which ended with a road trip to Orlando to see Paramore on my birthday (best birthday everrrrr! :D). It felt like the perfect soundtrack.

Enjoy! - Christine.

* * *

**.: **_**two**_** :.**

_Yeah, the friends who stuck together  
__We wrote our names in blood  
__But I guess you can't accept that  
__The change is good_

Maybe it's morbid, but I couldn't help thinking about cemeteries as Derek walked up to the car. Generally, I made sure to avoid them — no repeats of that disastrous lesson with Margaret, thanks.

But there are certain kinds of ghosts you just can't avoid.

Derek stopped in front of the hood, and stared at me through the windshield. I forced myself to stare back. _This was not my idea. This was not my idea. This was not— _but telepathy isn't included in the werewolf skill set.

Derek opened his mouth, but Simon spoke first. "Could you come out here, Chloe?" he asked. He said it the way a parent might when presenting their kids with a new puppy. I stayed put.

He leaned into the car and gave me a hopeful look. "Please? I'm going to explain everything."

"You swear?" I asked. I glanced at Derek again, and he looked equally pissed. Whatever Simon had to say, he better say it fast.

"Swear," he agreed, smiling. I was too content with my glare to smile back. I got out of the car.

The three of us stood on the sidewalk, Simon in the middle. The last time the three of us were alone together, there was a lot of yelling, mainly between Derek and I. Simon had kept himself between us to make sure we didn't murder each other. This time he wasn't as obvious, but I could tell it was another precaution. Apparently, Derek saw it too — he gave an aggravated sigh and stepped back.

"Better?" he growled. Simon chuckled, and I tapped my foot. _Any day now._

Simon shifted his weight to his other foot. "So. This is awkward."

Derek rolled his eyes, and I snorted, "No kidding." But Simon just gave another stilted laugh.

Another full minute of silence, and Derek lost patience. "Talk, Simon," he said. The words sounded like mud in his mouth, like they'd been composting for days rather than an hour.

I could connect the dots. Simon called up Derek at the gas station, and said something about taking off for a few weeks. He just left out a tiny detail: me.

Looking at Derek, still larger than life, I felt like Simon had left out the biggest detail of all.

Simon cleared his throat, and after making sure he had our attention — which he'd already had for the past ten minutes. He inhaled slowly.

"Twenty-four hours," he said. "That's all I'm asking."

That was it. Two sentences, and then silence. I felt my nails dig into my palms. "Twenty-four hours of what, Simon?" I deadpanned. I only had one guess. "Tori put you up to this, didn't she? She convinced you to bring me over here-"

He shook his head. "No, this is all me. She did ask me to go with you, but I…" He looked at his brother. "I had some previous obligations."

I made myself look at Derek, who was already shaking his head. "Not in a million years."

"But you said you didn't care who came with-"

"I thought you meant some new girlfriend, not _her_," Derek said, gesturing at me like an annoying bug.

"You guys used to love long car rides—"

"Slow down," I huffed, before they could really start arguing. "Why does it sound like _I'm_ the tagalong? It's my car, remember? _My_ vacation? If Tori didn't put you up to this — which I doubt — then why am I here?"

Derek snorted. "Tell her, Simon. Tell her what you did."

The spotlight was on him again, and he fidgeted under our gaze. "About a month ago…"

Derek swore. "Cut the crap," he said, and looked me dead in the eye. It was the first time he'd addressed me in who knew how long, but I didn't have time to dwell on it before he started talking. "You see that over there?" He pointed to the far side of the parking lot. A blue car I barely recognized as Derek's huddled in the corner, the passenger side doors completely smashed in, making the car look like a wounded animal. The only thing missing was the blood — otherwise it would've made the perfect stage piece for a crash scene.

"_That_," Derek said, commanding my attention, "is why you shouldn't let Simon drive your car. I gave him the keys and two hours later, I get a call from him saying he ran a red light. He's lucky he didn't kill himself."

Wide-eyed, and wondering why Tori never said anything, I gave Simon a more detailed once-over. He looked fine, even though I could now see the faint scratches on his hands and arms from broken glass. I looked at the car again. Lucky was an understatement.

Then I paled. "And you wanted to drive _my_ car?" I spluttered.

Simon shrugged, and he swallowed again. "Well, mine's in the shop—"

"What for?" Derek and I blurted.

"Engine trouble," Simon said, but when he threw us another guilty smirk, I knew it was anything but.

Holding back every urge to strangle him, I held out my hand, hardened my already stony look, and he reluctantly plopped the keys into my palm. Then I was jabbing my finger in his face, fuming. "If you ever think you're getting behind the wheel of this car, I will—I will—"

"Give it a rest, Chloe," Derek sighed, stepping forward and pushing us apart. I swear his touch burned my skin, and for an instant, I was disoriented, not sure who I was angrier at. _Derek, definitely Derek,_ I reminded myself, shrugging out of his grip. He didn't notice. "Tell her what else," Derek prodded, and now Simon was quick to answer questions, knowing his neck was on the line.

"Derek was supposed to go out of town this weekend, but since I wrecked his car, he can't make the trip. I was going to make it up to him by paying for a rental car and food, but then Tori called and—"

And Simon was forced to compromise. I bristled. Yeah, poor him.

"Go with Derek," I said. "I don't need a chaperone. I don't _want_ one. Thanks for the free gas, Simon. I'll see you when I get back." _If ever_, I thought, pissed that I'd let him take advantage of me — that he of all people had tried. It was time to get out of town, and possibly find a way to stay out.

But Simon caught my wrist, another guilty smile on his face. "See, Chloe, that's the thing-"

"_You're kidding me_," Derek blurted. I could practically watch the pieces fall into place in his head. "You never booked a rental car."

I shook off Simon's grasp and held up my hands. "Not my problem," I said, half-smug that Simon had to ward off a Derek-tirade of his own.

"You _swore_ you'd taken care of it—"

"I've been busy—"

"With what? You don't have school; you don't have a full time job. What the hell could you be busy with?"

"I'm sorry, okay? It was stupid, I get it, stop rubbing it in. I'm trying to fix it."

"_This_ is your idea of fixing it?" Derek said, and there was that gesture again, the one that said I was less than human, and I found myself with one foot in the car and my eyes focused on the boys in front of me.

I don't know what it was, but I felt riled. Derek wasn't fighting with me but it felt like he was. Every five seconds he shot this glassy-eyed stare in my direction. There was nothing behind or in front of that eerie shade of green, but it triggered the memories — I'd seen it before.

It was like watching a montage of those last few explosive fights. Derek was just angry. At me, at Simon, at the world, who really knew? Did that mean every source of aggravation should get the blast of them all combined? No.

Maybe it was because I'd thought it before, but all of that passed through my mind before I could blink. A millisecond later I was back on the sidewalk, cutting in. "Excuse me, but I'd appreciate it if you referred to me as a person instead of an object. Yeah, Simon screwed up, but that doesn't mean you have to lord it over him. It was a mistake — you know, a common symptom of being human."

He spun, and I felt the full force of his annoyance, but I didn't care anymore. Better me than Simon — at least I understood where it came from. "You're one to talk, it wasn't even your car he wrecked and you started threatening him—"

"He lied to me!"

"He lied to me, too," Derek pointed out. "Or did you think I was in on it, that I asked for him to bring you here?"

"Where is here anyway?" I asked, looking around the deteriorating apartment complex. "Your new place? It looks great, Derek, I'm glad you found something that fits your personality so perfectly—"

"Would you both just shut up?" Simon yelled, and I reflexively took a step back. Hanging out with Tori had taught me to watch out for sparks whenever tempers flared.

Derek started to argue but Simon cut him off. "You want me to talk, fine. Here's what I think: If anyone here needs to fix anything, it's not me. It's you two. I get that you resent each other, but that doesn't mean you have to put the rest of us through hell. It's been a year, and the first thing you do is start yelling at each other? Seriously?"

I didn't say anything. I just kept wishing I was a witch, that I could zap them both and drive away and be done with them for good. It wasn't worth it anymore. Derek could keep Simon — I didn't want any part of it.

"Twenty-four hours," he repeated, and still we didn't say anything. "You need to get to Hollywood, and you need to get to Chicago. I checked the maps — it's a day's drive from here to Chicago. Just give me one day."

"Why should I?" I said. "What have you done for me in the past year?"

Simon didn't know how to respond. It was childish to say, but I couldn't help it. Apparently, I was bitter.

Simon nodded, seeing where I was coming from even though I was just coming to terms with it myself. "Okay, fair enough. But you have to see why I haven't really been around—"

"Yeah, you took his side," I said. "As expected. Bros before hoes, right?"

Derek frowned. "What the hell are you talking about?"

I didn't bother explaining the divorce analogy. "I got Tori, you got Simon. That's just how it… worked out."

Simon took a deep breath. "Not exactly."

There were so many things going unsaid, it felt like flashbacks to Lyle House. I held up my hands in surrender. "Whatever. I'm leaving." What was the point in standing around here anyway?

"I miss it, okay?" Simon said as I opened the car door. Without meaning to, I paused. "You two are my best friends, but after you broke up, you pushed me away. It's been a year and I only see you when Dad or your aunt gets us all together." He said it all in a rush, embarrassed to admit he thought about it this much. "I—I miss how it used to be the three of us."

"I don't," Derek snorted.

I shot him a glare. He looked impassive as ever. "Neither do I."

Simon groaned. "Good for you, but this is about me, okay? Give me five seconds where the world doesn't revolve around how pissed off you are at each other. Chloe, I'm sorry I didn't ask you sooner. Derek, I'm sorry I screwed up your plans. But I'm _not_ sorry about suggesting this. You both need to get somewhere, and I'll get you there. The whole thing, it's on me. The food, the gas, the blame, everything. Twenty-four hours. All I want in return is that you try to get along. How hard can that be?"

_Hard as diamonds,_ I guessed, but I kept my mouth shut.

"You see that?" Simon said, pointing at Derek's destroyed car. "I was in that. You're right, I could've died. So which one of you would've come to the funeral?"

"Don't talk like that—" I said, but Derek's stance looked less confident too, and I knew I wasn't the only one a good guilt trip would work on.

"I think maybe I will," Simon said, stepping back a bit. "If I was dead, would you two get over yourselves long enough to spend one day together to remember me?"

I didn't answer. Of course I wanted to, if it ever came done to that. But every time Derek fidgeted, breathed, or made a point of his existence, I wanted to walk away. I honestly didn't know how strong that impulse could be.

"What's more important?" Simon asked. He said it rhetorically, scuffing his shoes on the ground, but I think he was really asking, sincerely wondering. "Being angry with each other and ignoring me, or fixing this? Time is short—"

"So why waste it fixing something that's better off?" Derek said. "There's no point."

Simon stared. "No point? Are you joking?"

It didn't need an answer, but Derek chose the wrong time to pretend. "No."

Simon threw up his hands. "Okay. Fine. If that's how you feel, Chloe can leave, and we'll figure something else—"

"How badly do you need to go to Chicago?" I blurted. The stares were hard to ignore.

Simon huffed, "Chloe, just go—"

"No." He tried to help me to the car but I pushed his hands away. "It's one day. I can handle a day." I kept thinking about getting a phone call from Tori, or Kit, and trying to imagine my reaction if they called to say Simon was dead, if _any_ of them were gone. I tried to imagine going to a funeral, but no scenes came to mind. I couldn't imagine myself as I was anywhere near a group of people hurting more than I was.

I still wanted to leave Boston. Earlier, leaving without a goodbye was almost the equivalent of oxygen. But now it seemed as bitter and careless as Derek.

I'm not Derek.

"I'm not going," Derek said. "Take your party and get out of here. Hope he doesn't convince you to let him drive."

"Why do you need to go?" I persisted.

He shrugged; Simon answered for him. "Some side work for one of Dad's cases, but he has a—" he faltered, a grin tugging at his lips "—a friend in town."

Even if I didn't entirely believe that Derek had other friends, I could justify this. "Get your stuff," I told him, ignoring the argument. "It's for your dad, and Simon. It's one day. After that we'll never have to see each other again."

Simon looked confused — he still didn't know I wanted to move — but Derek saved me from announcing it. "One day. You swear?"

"If we drive straight through," Simon piped up.

"We'll take shifts," I agreed. Then I cast another glance at Derek's addition to the scrap heap. I mentally shivered. "_Derek_ and I will take shifts," I clarified.

"That's cool with me," Simon said, "My license is suspended for a month anyway."

I whirled on him, past angry and veering towards taking him to get his head examined. "_And you drove my car?_"

"Hey," Derek said. Simon stopped peppering me with apologies. "I didn't agree to anything."

I bit my lip and sighed. "What've you got to lose?"

This was a compromise. I'd get to Hollywood, Derek would get to Chicago, and Simon would have us all together. He'd probably regret that and be glad when the day was over — the karma he deserved for hijacking my trip in the first place.

I knew I could handle it. It couldn't get any worse than it already was.

Derek stared at me, and I swear something in him flickered — he relaxed, the tension slipping away, and his eyes were familiar again. I looked away, focusing on a scratch on my car. Blood rushed in my ears.

I don't know what he saw, but he uncrossed his arms and took a deep breath.

"One day?" he asked again. Simon nodded. "Guaranteed?"

"I'm betting my savings and a loan from Tori on it," Simon said. "Does it get anymore guaranteed than that?"

Forget schizophrenia — I felt bipolar while I hoped for a yes and a no. Derek took his sweet time answering.

"One condition," he said.

"Which is?" I caught his eye again, but he was back to glass and stone.

He held out his hand. "I get the first shift."

I tossed the keys his way. "Deal."

* * *

We were barely on the road when the trouble started.

"Turn here," I said, pointing to the right. I was shotgun, and Simon sat behind me. I could see him from the side view mirror — he looked excessively smug.

"I know how to drive, Chloe," Derek said, legs crammed beneath the steering wheel. My name came out like a swear.

I held in a sigh. "But you don't know where we're going. Turn here."

He replied just as terse. "There's a faster way up ahead."

"Yeah, if we were going to Hollywood, _Florida_." We passed the turn. "You missed it."

"I _said_, there's a faster way—"

"Anyone want food?" Simon asked, sticking his head between us. He waggled his eyebrows. "I'll buy."

"I already ate," I said. "Derek, turn around."

"I'm not turning around—"

"This is _my_ car—"

"Then why don't _you_ drive it?"

"You _wanted_ to drive—"

"I could drive," Simon said. Derek glared at him through the mirror. I shut my eyes and pressed my head against the window, fighting back a stream of curses while Derek let his out unfiltered.

That first shift was horrible. Derek was better at handling the city driving, and in the end I was glad I let him drive. As usual, the traffic was horrible. By the time we left Massachusetts and entered Connecticut, he was gripping the wheel so tight I was afraid he'd break it off.

It probably didn't help that Simon kept talking, desperate to fill up the silence with something other than tension.

"Hey, you guys remember Peter, right? From Lyle?"

An image of a boy with a video game attached to his hands formed in my mind, even though I'd seen him since he left Lyle House. We found out he was a sorcerer, but the modifications the Edison Group did to his genes made his powers next to useless. We'd found him a few months after escaping the Edison Group for the last time, living in Rhode Island with his parents, who eventually admitted to placing their son in the experiment.

I couldn't remember much from that visit to the little house in the suburbs. Afterward, Derek and I went for another one of our walks, and back then, those had a way of blocking everything else from my memory.

I couldn't help blushing. I hadn't thought about those walks in months. But I nodded, letting my hair fall to cover my cheeks. I doubted Derek was thinking the same thing, but he looked uncomfortable too.

Simon just kept talking. "Him and I have been emailing, you know? And he started telling me about this game concept he has. He's been working on it at school — he's graduating next year with some technology degree — but hasn't had a chance to actually _design_ the game. Guess who he commissioned for some concept art?" He slapped the back of our seats. "Yeah, me! And get this. His school is _paying_ me to do it. It's like a research thing for some new platform, and they have to 'compensate their outside sources'. Sweet, right?"

"How much?" Derek asked blandly. I peeked through my hair; my steering wheel was still in danger.

"Enough," Simon said, waving away the question. It didn't matter to him how much he earned, as long as he could bring his own style to a project. "That coupled with the new e-comic I've been working on, and I'm actually bringing in some decent money. And who said you need a degree to be successful in life?"

Neither of us replied, but I did smile. So much for Derek's earlier jab.

Unlike Simon, who spent a few semesters at an art school, Derek and I ended up going to college. I went for a film degree, and he studied genetics. He wasn't really in it for the career — those were hard to come by in a world that doesn't understand you morph into a wolf every once and awhile. But he learned some stuff from it, mostly about what exactly the Edison Group did to us. His last two years in college had been the most revealing, and not just scientifically.

When it came to us, everything went downhill after high school. The more Derek studied, the angrier he became. The angrier he got, the more he lashed out. The more he lashed out, the more I gave him the cold shoulder. It got to the point where we were either yelling or not speaking at all.

Honestly? I resented him. He was never angry with me, but somehow I was always the one he attacked. He was obsessed. All he ever talked about was how the Edison Group had ruined our lives.

Maybe I'm sentimental. But if there was a flip side to being a part of Project Genesis, I always thought it was finding Derek. I guess he didn't agree.

I felt used.

And that still wasn't the half of it.

Simon stopped talking around the time we hit New York. Derek stopped at a drive-in for dinner, and Simon paid, and we all ate in silence while Derek navigated through the city and out to Pennsylvania. Eventually, Simon fell asleep.

I watched the lights of New York City shrink away before I said anything.

"Do you regret it?" I murmured.

It was a full five minutes before he answered. "No."

I nodded. It was the answer I expected. "Not even a little."

"No."

I swiped my hair out of my eyes and faced him. His eyes were on the road, and the passing car lights lit up his face.

It flickered again, but it was probably just my imagination. He still looked the same. His hair still fell into his eyes because he was too cheap for regular haircuts. His clothes fit better — I had to convince myself it was just a hardwired response when I lingered too long on his forearms.

One thing was off, but familiar in an old way. I scrolled through all the stills I'd collected in my mind until I caught it. The skin underneath his eyes was bruised, a faint smudge of purple beneath each one. Once, when we were on the run, hitching a ride in the back of a truck, I'd opened my eyes to see that same sleepless look.

I was staring. I knew it bothered him. He leaned back a little, to stretch his legs, but the car never fit him. Maybe I never did either.

"Want me to drive?" I found myself asking. He glanced at me, confirming the bags.

He didn't answer right away. "We'll trade in a few hours. Get some sleep. We'll stop for coffee later."

I sighed. Then I grabbed my pillow from behind me, and tried to press myself as close to the door as I could. I squirmed until I found a position that wouldn't mess up my neck too much, and watched the scenery speed past as I tried to fall asleep.

I didn't get much rest. The forests of Pennsylvania reminded me too much of the ones in New York, of being fifteen and in love, and the deep color of the trees against the purpling sunset reminded me too much of Derek's eyes. The flashing patterns the streetlights made on my eyelids didn't explain why he was losing sleep, and they definitely didn't help me find it.

We traded places a few hours later at a gas station. He didn't say anything; he just fished some money out of Simon's shirt pocket and went inside to top off the tank. When he came back, he had a Styrofoam cup in his hands, steam billowing through the lid.

He handed it to me when we got back in the car. I took a sip — coffee, with tons of cream and sugar. The only way I drank it.

"Thanks," I mumbled, pulling out of the station. He grunted, smashing my pillow into a more comfortable shape.

"Just don't fall asleep."

It wouldn't be hard. Ten minutes later, both of them were snoring.

* * *

**A/N 1**: Gotta give a _huge_ thank you to my best friend Marguerite, who read two different versions of this chapter and helped brainstorm huge chunks of the remaining story - even though I refused to give her the main plot twists I have in mind. I'd get nothing done if it wasn't for her personal brew of sarcastic patience!

**A/N 2: **Thanks to the reviewers and anyone who added this to their alerts/favorites. This chapter is slow, but the pace will definitely pick up in the next one. :D


	3. Conspiracy

_**Disclaimer**__: One time, I DID own the Darkest Powers series. But then I woke up. (Translation: Anything you recognize is not mine!)_

**A/N**: I'm getting into a rhythm here! To everyone asking me to hurry up: I thought I might post some chapters faster, but I'm finding I definitely need a week to get these things polished. The chapters go through maybe two or three incarnations before I do the final edits (grammar, spelling, etc.). As the plot deepens, I'll be able to write bigger batches at a time, but for now, I won't promise anything!

One more thing - a humongous cyber cookie for Marguerite, my test audience and BFFL. Thanks hun!

* * *

**.: three :.**

_Please speak softly, for they will hear us  
__And they'll find out why we don't trust them  
__Speak up dear, 'cause I cannot hear you  
__I need to know why we don't trust them_

Apparently, it would be hard to stay awake. After getting on the road, it was obvious the nap and coffee were as useful as sunglasses on the darkened road. Each blink was like sandpaper against my irises.

I'm not sure how long into the drive it was, but Derek's snores tapered off as he fell into a deeper sleep. He shifted again, like he wanted to put his feet up somewhere, and grumbled to himself. I frowned. If there was any drool on my pillow when I got it back, there would be an aggravation fee on Simon's bill.

Simon was quiet, too. In his sleep, he'd shoved everything to the floor, and splattered himself across the entire backseat. With Derek slouched to the edges of my peripherals, and Simon completely out of sight, the car felt empty, and the silence rang in my ears. I pulled myself a little closer to the wheel. If this was how I felt when the guys were snoozing, maybe it was a good thing I didn't make the trip alone.

A few miles of Pennsylvanian forest flew by, and my head felt heavy. _You've been thinking too much_. That much was true. But there was another layer to it, something thicker. Something a little less avoidable.

My grip on the gas pedal loosened, and I didn't care when the traffic starting passing around me. The highway emptied. I sucked in a breath, letting it out through pursed lips. It was just the road, the streetlights, and me. My eyelids fluttered, and the car banked enough for the tires to cross the dividing line…

A horn sounded, and I swerved back into my lane. A silver sedan shot past us, and a passenger leaned out to give me the finger. I rolled up the window and turned the AC on full blast. Maybe the cold would keep me awake.

"You okay?" asked a voice from behind me. I watched Simon sit up in the rearview and held in a grateful sigh.

"Just regretting not taking a longer nap," I said. I took my eyes off the road just long enough to assess Derek - still out like last year's jeans. I tried to push it out of my head, but I was honestly shocked. That horn should've sent him flying into the windshield, especially when he used to stir at the smallest sounds back when we were on the run. I could still see his shadow checking the beds to make sure we were all safe.

_Who's he been checking on now?_ My brow furrowed. As far as I knew, he didn't have a roommate. Wouldn't have one - he wasn't much of a sharer. _He used to share with you._

Feeling cramped, I shifted around in my seat, and Simon moved behind me. His eyes were narrow as he examined me in the mirror. "Do you need a break?"

I shook my head. "I'm fine. Swear."

"Are you sure?"

I nodded. "Talking helps, I think."

"What are you thinking about?"

_Not that kind of talk._ I looked past the road and made something up. "Pennsylvania. It's pretty at night."

He yawned, stretching his words and his back. "Everything's pretty at night - you can't see if it's ugly."

"You know what I mean," I said. The passing lights allowed me a view of his answering laugh

Pennsylvania _was_ pretty, though. I knew from experience that most highways looked the same. They cut through forests and mountains and only converged to disrupt civilization when vitally necessary. When we were on the run, I'd become the most comfortable in the back of Kit's van, speeding down the interstate, like a blood cell being sent to an adrenaline-fueled heart.

This one was different though, and I couldn't place why until Simon said, "Isn't this where we went first? After we found Dad?"

Just as I scrambled to remember, we passed a sign marking the speed limit. It hung crookedly from its post, and I knew it. Seven years later and that sign still wasn't fixed. "Yeah, I think so."

Simon snorted. "Crazy, huh? Hey, the motel should be coming up soon." I nodded. "We should stop. We could probably get the same room, too-"

"I don't think so."

Simon didn't say anything. He didn't say anything as we passed the exit and the motel, either. My lids drooped again-

Simon kicked the back of my seat, and I looked up to see the reflection of his wide eyes. He cleared his throat. "Turn around, Chloe. We should stop."

"No."

"Then let me drive."

I snorted. "No."

"Then I guess we're turning around."

"How?" I asked. We were on the highway, a grass median between us and the lanes heading east. The next exit wouldn't be for miles. I could feel him revving up for an argument. "Just keep me awake, okay? I'd be in a hotel already if-" I bit the phrase short. _If it hadn't been for you._ "Just keep talking."

He sighed, surrendering. "Then turn down the air conditioner. I'm freezing my nads off."

I rolled my eyes and turned it down. Derek let out a sneeze/snort combo that I decided to take as a thank you.

"He looks exhausted," Simon said, catching my looks. I shrugged.

"He just drove for six hours straight. I'd be exhausted, too."

"I mean he looked that way when we picked him up. He's looked that way for months."

_So the bags are new_. I chewed my lip. I could either change the subject and look heartless, or I could continue and admit that I noticed it too. "I guess so," I said, indecisive.

"You can't tell me you didn't notice."

I slid another look at Derek, just to make sure he was out. I sighed. "Yeah, I did."

"Don't you want to know why?"

Another noncommittal shrug, even as the shame fell like a veil over my brain. I did want to know. _What does it matter anymore?_

Simon settled against his window, his breath smoking up the still-cold glass. "_I_ want to know. The idiot won't say why."

I laughed. "When did he ever talk about anything?"

He ignored that. "It has to do with you. I know it."

"Everyone loves a conspiracy," I chided, sitting a little straighter. _Change the subject!_ This wasn't sleep-prevention; it was an interrogation.

Although, the idea that Derek was losing sleep over me did sound nice. It served him right. _I hope the guilt eats him alive. _But even as I thought it, an overwhelming guilt swept over me instead. It brought with it a stroke of clarity, and the road seemed to stretch farther in front of me than before.

"Do you know what he did?" Simon went on. Derek made no move to stop him - he really was asleep. "After you broke up?"

"It's none of my business," I said. _Tell me._

"He went missing for about a month. Kept in touch with Dad, I think, but he ignored my calls… Honestly, I don't know where he went. I thought you might."

"Not a clue," I said. It was the truth.

"He doesn't talk much anymore. Yeah, I know, he wasn't a chatterbox before… But he was less guarded. Now he's the one-man-show he always wanted to be." He sighed. "You and Derek were something. Did you know that?"

I didn't know that. I didn't even know what it meant. "Something" could mean anything. Something idiotic, something volatile. As far as I saw it, the whole relationship went under the heading of "Big Fat Mistake".

Derek burrowed into the pillow again, and I panicked, turning the conversation in a safer direction. "_You're_ something, Simon. Something crazy."

He smiled tiredly, not quite letting it reach his eyes. "Funny, I don't remember being diagnosed at Lyle."

After that, we chatted about nothing. His dad's caseload, his new girlfriend (Jen? Jane? Jezebel?), and even more about her paintings. None of it important, just everyday things we hadn't been able to share.

It was exactly the kind of nothing I needed.

* * *

I finished my shift in one piece, even though Simon had dozed off and left me to my own devices - the AC up high, the radio playing music I never liked, contemplating high-speed summoning. But dawn came, and thank god it did, because I was spent. Just inside of Ohio, we stopped for fuel (for us and the car), and then we traded off again. My pillow was fine - besides smelling like Derek's shampoo - and I passed out before we were even out of the parking lot.

Unfortunately, I woke up a few hours later, when the car's rhythm went from the smooth rumble of the highway to short, jerky stops. I looked around, blinking in the midday sun. We were at another drive in, at the end of a long line of cars. To the right I saw another crowded fast food joint, and two more next to it. It was one of those pit-stop exits, a town grown around the needs of the highway. Across the street were more restaurants, gas stations, and cheap motels. I grumbled and forced myself to sit up.

"Oh good, you're up," Simon said from the backseat. "You hungry? I could eat a moose."

"A moose could eat you," I murmured, rubbing my eyes. I had a terrible crick in my neck.

The car inched forward again, and Derek groaned. Someone behind us honked, but Derek's growling stomach was louder than his aggravation. It was up to Simon to lean out the window and give the driver the bird.

"Are all the lines like this?" I asked.

"Yeah," Simon said. Derek was impatiently tapping his foot, and the muscles in his jaw worked overtime. I settled in for a long wait. If anyone had to eat regularly, it was Derek.

Then I paused, and twisted toward the back. "How are you handling all this junk food?"

Simon pulled out the pouch with his medication and shrugged. "I'm not overdoing it-"

"She's got a point," Derek said. He allowed himself to focus on his brother in the rearview, and his stomach stopped roaring. Pouting now that it wasn't the center of attention.

"I'm fine," Simon said, but Derek was already pulling out of the drive-thru and back onto the street.

Despite Simon's protests, we drove past the main drag of the town and towards the residential area. There we came across - what else? - a Walmart. Derek wrinkled his nose at the hundreds of scents in the parking lot alone, but it was either this or a health food store, which he always said smelled worse. I refrained from mentioning it - Derek didn't need to know I was aware of his discomfort. Simon just talked over it.

The three of us stepped into the superstore and just like every time I found myself in a Walmart, I realized how... well, how _not normal _I was.

I must've said as much out loud, because Simon snorted. "Nah, you've got it backwards. We're the normal ones. This is where they keep the freaks."

Derek gave a tentative sniff. "There's a deli in the back."

"We could get a cooler and stock up on things for sandwiches," I suggested. I felt a little guilty. I'd brought snacks but hadn't planned on Simon coming along. Packing for a man-hating girl trip is a lot different from packing for a diabetic. For instance, there's more chocolate involved.

"I'll get the meat," Simon said. "Can you guys go pick out a cooler?"

Derek and I both panicked. "But-"

"If Derek gets the food, he'll eat it all before we get to the register," Simon chuckled. He waved his cell phone, letting us know to call him when we were done, and then disappeared into the crowd.

Derek sighed. "Come on."

"Shouldn't we ask where they-"

"Outdoors is always furthest from the food," he said, striding in the opposite direction. _Well, of course it is._ I jogged after him.

Navigating a foreign Walmart on the weekend (oh, _and_ during lunch) was probably scarier than using a demi-demon to find my way through the Edison Group's lab. Simon was right; this is definitely where they keep the freaks.

Okay, I'm exaggerating. But I almost lost a few toes when two old women in motorized carts practically mowed me down. TWO. Thank god Derek was tall enough to keep track of.

Finally, we hit a lull in the back of the store, and I could walk alongside him. That is, if he didn't walk so fast. "If I didn't know any better, I'd say you were running away from me," I said.

He glanced at me, frowning. "I'm not running away-" He shook his head. "Whatever."

I sighed. "Then slow down. Not all of us can leap tall buildings in a single bound."

He groaned, but slowed. Now I only had to take two steps to every one of his. Isn't he thoughtful?

Stationary, toys, automotive… I threw a couple glances at him as we searched, but he tactfully ignored me. He knew I hated that. "You could talk to me, too, you know. So your brother doesn't have to carry the entire conversation. I don't know how much longer I can listen to him rave about Jen's paintings-"

"Jess," he corrected. I looked up to see a wry smirk fade as quickly as it came. _That's something_. I smirked back

"Oops," I said, clearly not meaning it. "Still. He's running out of topics." Derek turned down an aisle, and we came to a shelf system packed with coolers.

I waited while Derek examined his options, not knowing the difference between cubic inches and volume versus the amount of ice you need to cool it. I really didn't care. I was more interested in getting him to talk. Simon couldn't do it, but I figured there was nothing wrong with giving it a whirl.

He caught me eyeing him expectantly, but compared two coolers against each other before clearing his throat. "So whose idea do you think this was?"

I frowned. "Um, I suggested the cooler-"

He made a noise between a snort and a groan. "No, I mean the trip. Do you really think it was Simon's idea?"

That took me off guard, but I'd learned how to hide it. "Yes," I said, even as I thought it over. "He had a legitimate reason, I guess."

Derek slid me a skeptical look, one brow raised. Unconvinced. "So you don't think Tori had anything to do with it?"

Any morbid curiosity in me deflated.

Honestly, I did think Tori had something to do with it. At first. But Simon was paying for _everything_ - would he do something like that at Tori's bidding? The scheme seemed too elaborate. In my mind, this was all Simon, right down to the seeds he was planting in my head. And I knew they were seeds now - otherwise I wouldn't be having this conversation at all. I had no reason to talk to him until Simon blamed his silence on our break up.

_Tell him that._

I faltered. He was giving me an accusatory stare. And the way he phrased the question felt like he was accusing me, too. _It's _your_ friend, so this is _your_ fault_, I could imagine him saying, if he were a few eons less mature. But maybe it was just about Tori. Even after it came out that she was Kit's daughter, Derek had never really let her into the fold. I figured it had to do with the time she'd tied me up in the crawl space, but now it was probably because she'd chosen my side instead of her flesh and blood.

Yeah, I know Derek's her foster brother. You get my drift.

_But the look… _I decided to spit it out. "No. I think it's Simon."

He looked away, and settled on a red and white cooler with cup holders in the lid. It was the only difference I noticed. That and the price - cheap. "How come?"

"He left us alone," I said simply, meeting his eye.

I thought for a split second that he might apologize. I don't know why, but maybe it was the word 'us'. 'Us' was definitely something to apologize for.

Instead, he rolled his eyes. "So Simon's the mastermind. Okay." He pulled out his phone and called Simon, talked for a few seconds, then hung up. Then we headed towards the grocery department, the cooler dangling from his hand.

_Don't let him have the last word._ I was searching for a way to continue the subject when he spoke up. "It was Tori's idea," he said. "Simon's just playing along."

"He's not an idiot."

"He also doesn't manipulate people."

I rolled my eyes. "He did all the sweet-talking when we first met."

"Because I suggested it."

I almost tripped. I'd been thinking about the way Simon had smiled his way through Lyle House, and the safe house, but Derek obviously had gone in another direction. I wasn't the only one with 'us' on the brain.

"It's Simon," I said, backtracking. "I know you hate Tori, but Simon's not an angel. You'll see."

He didn't bother restating his side.

_You'll see. _I felt like the clock was ticking. Like there was an unstated bet in the air between us. One of his siblings was trying to get us to make up. Derek had his suspicions, and I had mine.

The situation itself made me livid. I already had enough unwanted modifications in my life to worry about. But any anger over that was quickly blanketed by the urge to prove Derek wrong.

We met up with Simon near the vegetables, where I schooled them on how to pick out a good head of lettuce. We grabbed some bread and then detoured to the back of the store for some diet soda and 'emergency' candy bars. By the time we were done, it probably looked like we were going camping - we had everything but the tent and sleeping bags.

We were at the front of a long line when Simon remembered something. "Could one of you grab a bag of ice?" he asked as he smiled at the groaning cashier. Buying time. I resisted the urge to give Derek a told-you-so look.

Derek dodged around disgruntled shoppers to get the ice, and I decided this was my only chance to be upfront. Derek could glare a confession out of anybody, but I had to rely on my own talents. The main one? Looking the complete opposite of intimidating. "Simon?"

He nodded at the cashier before turning to me, his grin on it's highest setting. "What's up?"

I rolled the words around in my mouth, weighing and shaping the sentence carefully. "Was there... another motive behind getting us to agree to this trip?" I made my eyes look big and unassuming.

He frowned. "What do you mean?"

"I m-mean-" I took a deep breath. It wasn't a planned stutter, but it wouldn't hurt anything. "When you came up with the idea, did you really just want to catch up, or did you have something else in mind?"

He stared at me, searching my face. "Chloe, I just want my life back. My _friends_ back."

"So you aren't trying to play, you know, matchmaker?"

He shook his head, and then cracked a smile. "That would be pretty ballsy of me. Try and get you back together in a day?" He checked his watch. "If I was, I'm a failure. We should be in Chicago by tonight, and you haven't said a word to each other."

I laughed, but inside I was checking off tactic number one. Asking nice wasn't going to be enough for this one.

Derek came back with the ice, and Simon put everything on his debit card. He also set up the cooler in the parking lot - he'd be the one digging around in there, anyway. Meanwhile, Derek and I made our sandwiches. I had two. I lost count on Derek's fourth.

When Simon finished eating and checked his blood sugar, I realized Derek was staring at him. And it wasn't the usual brotherly worry I saw on his face. It was a calculated stare, brows furrowed, eyes narrowed, the corner of his mouth tense. I shoved the crusts of my sandwich into my mouth to hide a snort.

I guess it was fair. I tried my trustworthy tactic, so now he could try his. Simon either didn't notice, or spent so much time with Derek in the past that he was immune to it. Obviously, it failed, but that only tweaked Derek's expression slightly - now everything was tense.

I checked my watch and announced that we should get back on the road. We were halfway to Chicago. That meant I had less than ten hours to get a confession out of Simon. The countdown had started.

Derek started asking questions before we were even on the highway. "How's Tori? Did she ever find a new job?"

Simon and I shared a look before we burst into laughter. Derek rolled his eyes - then he drowned us out with the radio.

* * *

**A/N 1**: Oddly enough, I actually like Walmart. Just not on the weekends. _Ugh_.

**A/N 2: **As always, I hope you liked this chapter. In terms of movies, the next chapter is the end of act one! By the end of chapter four, the gang will be in Chicago, my hometown. I'm beyond excited, and not just for sentimental reasons. I can't be the only one tired of scenes set in or around that Dodge!

Review!


	4. Fences

_**Disclaimer**: If any of you know a way to become Kelley Armstrong _and_ Hayley Williams (Kayley Willstrong?), let me know._

**A/N**: Yes, I know it's not Friday, but as I obsessed over this chapter and finished it _way_ ahead of schedule, I'm posting it today! I know! You lucky dogs! XD

Originally I was going to reply to all my reviews separately, but I'll be honest – I'm lazy. But I love you guys and don't want you to think I've forgotten you! So here's a quick batch of replies/shout-outs, and then on with the show!

- _everyoneisMISunderstood_ - First off, thanks for making a regular out of yourself! I love seeing a fellow Parawhore's reviews :D Anyway, I'm one of the teenagers causing a ruccus in Walmart as well, but at least we can admit it! I'm glad you're having fun with the soundtrack - each song is really how I get my head in the mindset for each chapter, so I'm glad it shows. Hope this chapter is up to snuff - but nope, still not telling who's the mastermind!  
- _Winkadink_ - Another regular! Glad you're enjoying it! :D  
- _suzi1811_ - Gah, isn't Chicago amazing? I miss it so much! I'm hoping to spend a couple chapters there, but who knows? Thanks for reading – I promise you'll be getting answers soon enough. ;D  
- _Lauren94_ - I'm proud to say that I know exactly why they broke up, and I'm not just writing this by the seat of my pants. But I'm still not telling! But hopefully this chapter will tide you over! Thanks for reviewing!  
- _Derekluver542_ - I swear on Liz's grave that no harm will come to Derek. Well, no permanent harm anyway ;) Thanks for reading!

Shout outs go to _xoxsweetchick101xox_, _ReadingInTheDark_, _moleking_, and _not-so-innocent011_ for reviewing chapter two. You guys rock! XD

Without further ado...

* * *

**.: _four_ :.**

_Yeah, yeah well you're just a mess  
__You do all this big talking  
__So now let's see you walk it  
__I said let's see you walk it_

"American Museum of Magic. Marshall, Michigan."

"No."

"Avon, Ohio, the duct tape capital of the world–"

"No."

"Earnest Angley's Cathedral Buffet? Cuyahoga Falls."

"No."

"World's Largest Cemetery–"

"Are you serious?"

Simon grinned at me from over my laptop. "Just making sure you're actually giving these a chance."

I sat back in my seat and tried to ignore Derek's snort.

Derek and I had divided the trip up as equally as we could into fourths. With an hour left until we hit the Indiana border, and the start of my second shift, I should've been napping, but my head felt too jittery for sleep. Between Simon rattling off possible detours, and the fresh tension in Derek's posture, it was an easy decision: stay awake. Derek didn't even nag me when I asked to stop for coffee – which was proof right there that he was ready to play Simon vs. Tori. He would've treated me like an over-excited Chihuahua and hid downers in my food if he wasn't just as determined to challenge my logic.

"Are you done draining my battery yet?" I asked. "I need to send Tori an email."

"Can't you text her?" Simon said. I caught the smirk in the mirror. Yes, I could probably text her, but that wasn't the point. The point was to get Simon talking about her. More specifically, which of them orchestrated the trip.

"I'd rather write the email. There's too much for a text."

"Then I'm finishing up as we speak."

I held down the heavy sigh with every ounce of patience I had left.

Obviously, Derek's fumbled segue into the topic failed miserably. And so far my luck wasn't any better. I tried asking directly how Tori was when Simon saw her the day before – the question sounded better coming from me – but Simon said they barely spoke. When he asked to borrow my laptop, I cracked a few jokes about him being in such a rush that morning that he forgot his own computer, but he only blamed his alarm clock. Derek tried asking about his diet… including the breakfast he'd supposedly eaten with Tori. Nothing.

Maybe it was to get back at both of them, but I even played the Upset Female card. When Derek switched lanes a little faster than usual, I took the opportunity to 'accidentally' spill coffee on his jeans. He swore for ten minutes, and I faked a breakdown thanks to the limited acting skills I'd picked up at Emerson. Then I blamed the whole thing on Simon – but instead of feeling guilty and confessing, he laughed and caught Derek's eye in the mirror. "PMS."

I wanted to strangle him.

The fact was, Simon and Tori saw through each other so easily that it was almost impossible to suggest one being fooled or conned by the other. They were equally devious, but Simon usually meant well. They were smart – clearly a trait inherited from Kit. The only thing I really had going to prove my case was the paper trail. Every nickel went back to Simon, and he would never be that generous with Tori, no matter how much blood they shared. Derek's theory seemed to rely on Simon's ignorance – or maybe Derek's hardcore belief in his innocence.

Either way, Simon was catching on. I told Derek that he wasn't an idiot, and I was positive this proved it. He was catching every jab and question, tossing it to the side like an unwanted page from his sketchbook. Nothing was working. Maybe it was the sleep deprivation, but I felt stupid. _There must be some way to get it out of him…_

"My laptop's in my bag," Derek said suddenly. I looked at him. His eyes narrowed in an expression I didn't really recognize, and he jabbed a thumb over his shoulder. "It's behind my seat."

I blinked. I knew where his bag was. I even knew his laptop was in it. But he was _offering_ for me to use it?

Simon stopped clacking away at my keyboard, and I could feel him watching us. "T-that's okay," I said. "It can wait."

"Suit yourself," Derek shrugged.

Simon went back to typing, but otherwise the car was silent.

A minute later, Simon snapped my Macbook shut and passed it over the seat. "Thanks, Chlo. Sorry I took so long."

"It's okay," I said, more dejected than annoyed. Now I had to fake writing an email. "She only needs a quick update."

Not expecting much, I waited. Simon ferreted through the cooler, like a dog who was occasionally – and conveniently – deaf.

"You mean Tori?" Derek asked. Again, his voice was so far from his usual grumbling that it took me a moment to recognize it. "Your email," he clarified, catching my scared-rabbit look. "It's for Tori?"

_It's just a question_, I told myself, and shook off the shock. Nothing wrong with answering. "Y-yeah."

He cleared his throat. "What about your aunt?"

That struck a cord in other parts of my brain. _My aunt? What about her? She doesn't need–_ But maybe she did need an update. She had no idea I'd added another stop to the trip. "You're right, I should probably write her too–and Dad–"

"How is she?"

There was that expression again. What was it? A long forgotten piece of me laughed. _You can't tell me you forgot what concern looks like._

Concern?

_Concern?_

"Yeah, how is Lauren?" Simon asked through bites of a sandwich. He shifted forward so he could hear better.

Honestly, I had no idea. We were busy and didn't talk much anymore. I pulled an answer out of my ass. "Um, she's good. T-the, um, hospital's been busy. You know how it is in the summer… with all the drunk teenagers and… Well, drivers like Simon, I guess–"

Derek laughed, a low and short rumble. Amused. This time, Simon stared too.

_Unidentified laughing object! _Alarm bells, sirens, attack dogs, every warning my brain could think of had me on edge. I quickly opened up my laptop – still on, my mobile WiFi connection ready to go – and navigated to my email account.

Derek was being nice. For no reason. It didn't make sense. I gulped down more coffee, wondering if his laughter was what the apocalypse sounded like.

"Thought you didn't like Lauren, bro," Simon said. Derek shrugged, and I thought that was the end of it. But it wasn't.

"We had an unspoken agreement."

"Like…?"

"Conditional. Respect each other's places in Chloe's life. Stand each other until she couldn't stand us."

Simon laughed, but it sounded like it was coming through a straw. This wasn't happening. Derek was talking about back then – when we were 'us' and life was good and he was the boyfriend my aunt was forced to tolerate. It felt like a century ago – since when did Derek deal in ancient history?

I didn't want to talk about it. I wanted to shove it all under the rug – no, in the oldest part of a cemetery, where the bodies were buried five or six to a grave, and there was no way in hell I'd be able to go back and dig it all up again.

My brain scrambled, but I kept up the charade. I hunched over the computer, but just as I started typing, the computer made a heart wrenching _beep!_

The screen blackened. My battery was dead.

Simon swore. "I'm sorry, I didn't think I would drain it that fast–"

I mumbled assurances as I closed the traitorous device and shoved it into its travel case, wishing it was a coffin.

Derek laughed again, only this time it sounded normal, a condescending snort. "Apple strikes again."

My brain grinded to a stop. Apple strikes again. Again? We all owned Macs, swore by them. I'd picked his out myself, as an anniversary gift senior year. I skipped class for the second time in my life with Tori to go pick it out–

Tori. Apple. The words snapped together like magnets. He was talking about Tori.

Once that bit made it through, everything moved at warp speed. Derek never wasted a word. He wasn't making small talk, he was playing nice – playing the _game_. With _my_ tactic. I wanted to kick myself. How could you not recognize your own asset? But the main question was _why_ – what was the point of being nice to _me?_

"Dad and I like her. Lauren was always great," Simon was saying. They were still talking. "Tori didn't really like her. But Tori doesn't like anybody–"

"Nobody likes Tori," Derek said. "She's a bitch." But he managed to crack a smile – I'd definitely forgotten that one. "Remember the time she caught Chloe and I behind that motel in New Jersey?"

I spun on him so fast I almost lost my lunch. He _never_ talked about that. _Ever_.

Simon guffawed. "The binding spell!" I felt my face turn ten shades of red. "I didn't believe it until then, but only a Bae would've been fast enough to get that on film–"

"She's not too much of a disappointment," Derek agreed, sounding reluctant. He slid a look my way – it fell on me like slime. "At least she recognizes an opportunity."

I swiped away the cobwebs; talking about that motel in Jersey was _not_ going to help matters. But it illustrated a point. Tori was smart.

Then it clicked. He was being nice to me to get Simon off his guard. Distract him with the oddness of it so he'd talk more freely about other things – things like Tori. Classic misdirection. Half of my favorite movies used it – how could I miss it?

It didn't matter. The point was I knew now. I could adapt. I could hear Kit in my mind, thinking back to the day he'd enrolled us in high school under fake names – it was surprisingly hard to remember I was Chloe Smith. _Rule number one: learn the rules, the ropes. Rule number two? _He'd given me a cocky, half-joking smile. _Manipulate them._

"That wasn't the only time she caught us," I blurted. Simon, still laughing, looked at me expectantly. Derek's grip on the wheel went slack. "Remember the semester at Parkview High? Derek and I used to hit the track every night–"

"Chloe," Derek mouthed. I plowed on.

"But then Tori joined the track team, and she'd stay late after practice–"

Simon sighed wistfully. "That was nice, having the whole house to myself." Then his face turned devious. "How'd she catch you? Was it bad?"

"It was completely innocent. I mean," I inserted a bashful laugh for effect, "if you ignore the fact that, um, hands were roaming–"

Simon laughed hard enough that he couldn't breathe. He made a slicing motion across his throat – he didn't need explicit details. "Okay, okay, so what did she do?"

My blush wasn't hard to fake. "Well, that was the month Aunt Lauren bought us all camera phones–"

"No way," Simon said, a touch of envy in his voice. "How come I didn't hear about this?"

"How else does Tori do anything? Blackmail," I said, leaning over the seat back while Simon imagined the fallout in his mind. I spared him the rest – whatever he thought up was ten times better than what actually happened. "She's diabolical. Most of the trouble Derek and I got into was thanks to her."

Now Simon shook his head. "Oh come on, you know it wasn't all her. What about the time I let Dad catch you in the pantry–"

"It was Derek's dad!" I sighed. "Any father would've been proud to catch his son making out with a girl. Face it, Simon. Tori knew where to hit us the hardest."

Derek didn't say a word. I'd hijacked his angle. Now I could tweak it with some good old reverse psychology – convince Simon that I believed Tori was a mastermind, until his pride forced him to confess.

Simon and I rehashed endless scenarios, his cunning versus his half-sister's, almost all of them involving some form of Derek and I in a liplock. The way we made it sound, the whole relationship revolved around making out – but of course there was more to it, I reminded myself. The make-out sessions were just the more embarrassing parts. From the very beginning, we had to deal with what Derek called interruptions – always interruptions, because we would just pick up where we left off.

The memory made me laugh, and I sent a smirk to Derek. The look on his face told me I shouldn't be laughing.

The conversation went on, but I kept throwing him glances. It wasn't hard to figure out he was ignoring me. Or trying to. His jaw twitched, like he was grinding his teeth, or biting his tongue. There was a reason he didn't kiss and tell – he was embarrassed.

I tried swallowing the guilt, but it clung to my throat like a cold.

I thought this would be easier. But with each passing second, each recounted story, I found it harder and harder to breath. There was _so_ much to tell – so much I'd forgotten.

In the beginning, it was desperation, trying to make sense of what was happening to us. Always talking, arguing our points, conceding when we knew the other one was right. It was thinking out loud with an added layer: kiss and make up.

But we got older, and the dangers passed. There were more important things than the Edison Group. We went from arguments to conversations, back into our pasts, and ahead into the future. The trips to the track weren't just about minimizing interruptions – they were about taking a breather. Joking about nothing and talking about everything while the world kept to the other side of the fence.

With practice, we could read each other. The tiniest quirk of his lips meant as much as my small smiles, and the quieter his voice became, the closer he wanted to be. If I was uncomfortable, he'd be right there to lean on. If he was tense, I'd hold his wrist until he calmed enough to lace his fingers with mine. He'd touch the small of my back not because it was the thing to do, but because his hand fit, perfectly, like I was molded to his palm.

We smoothed out each other's personality wrinkles. He was calmer; I was stronger. The impossible balance people spend forever looking for – the _something_ Simon was talking about.

It made sense now. We were something, something special. Like a favorite movie on repeat. Even the worst parts were okay, because I knew they got better.

It hit me just how much I missed him.

"Give it up, Simon," I said, suffocating in my head. "Tori's just the better instigator. I mean, look at us now. The three of us together? Having fun? We wouldn't be here if Tori hadn't orchestrated it–"

"But it was _my_ idea–"

"Sure, like Tori didn't convince you to play along. I'll have to thank her. It was genius."

"Chloe, I–"

"Time to switch," Derek said. He pointed out a sign: _Welcome to Indiana_.

* * *

Derek turned into the first rest stop he found. The parking lot was rimmed with trees, a thicker forest behind it, with walking trails for people and their pets. The lot lights flickered despite the fact that the sun was still up. Their electric buzzing was what got me out of the car and into the building, but the lights inside weren't much quieter.

Simon went straight for the bathroom, and Derek left to examine a state map. I looked around. The building was cleaner than most. A bank of vending machines huddled to the right, and beside the map was a flat screen TV set into the wall. The Weather Channel was on, and the elevator music reminded me of a few horror movies. Convince the heroine of her safety, and then let the killer pounce. Sigh.

I ducked into the girls' room for a bathroom break. When I finished, Simon was still in the bathroom. I fished some money out of my wallet and bought coffee from the dispenser, splurging for decaf. I was too wired to need much else.

Simon was still missing. After some internal debate, I went to stand beside Derek, his eyes scrutinizing the map. Had he always been that tall?

After a minute of Derek's frigid silent treatment, I huffed. "We're here," I enunciated, pointing to the big red dot on the map that said as much: YOU ARE HERE.

"Didn't know you could read," he mumbled, tracing a few routes with his fingers, guessing which ones would be the best.

"Didn't know you could speak English," I said. "Seems old dogs can learn new tricks."

A family paraded through the door – six of them, I noted, doing a quick headcount. They were the only reason Derek didn't reply. It was beyond irritating.

He was still examining the map when they divided into the bathrooms. "How many options can there be?" I asked.

"Enough. We could take the highway, the interstate, the toll way. A state road would get us into Illinois with less traffic, but it would take longer."

My nose twitched. "Which way's fastest?"

He shrugged, still thinking. The air felt thick.

"He was about to confess," I said. It was the only topic I could safely think of. "I was right."

He rolled his eyes. He wouldn't admit being wrong without definite proof. He pointed to a spot on the map where a few lines intersected, just outside of Chicago. "That's where we switch off."

"Again?"

"Do you know the city as well as I do?" He tapped the spot again. "We switch here."

"Good to know," I mumbled, wondering when he'd been there. _Not when we were together_. I rolled onto the balls of my feet to get a better look.

"What's so important about Chicago, anyway?" I asked as I fell back onto my heels. "Some asshole convention I don't know about?"

He looked down at me and frowned. Green was a color usually connected to envy. Today, in his eyes, it seemed closer to a reprimand. I knew I deserved it. But instead of doing the smart thing and backing down, I batted my lashes, knowing my looks usually said one thing: innocent. He scoffed.

"No," he took the bait. "If there was, Tori would be here."

"Yes, that's right, because Tori's the root of all evil!" I tapped my forehead sarcastically. "How could I forget?"

"Didn't have any trouble remembering in the car," he said, as quiet as he could without it being a whisper. His entire stance said _this is a private conversation._ But his eyes said _this is about 'us'._

I shrugged, but faking indifference was not going to diffuse this. "I was just following your lead."

"You were trying to get a rise out of me," he said. He turned his back to the map and faced me, crossing his arms. I wracked my brain to remember what that meant, but it was one pause too long. "You're still angry, I get it, but I never thought you'd be stupid enough to–" He cut himself short, a growl escaping his lips. He licked them and started over. "Do you know anything about loyalty, Chloe?"

"What the hell is that supposed to mean?"

"It means you don't break a promise just because you're angry. It means you deal with it, but you keep things quiet out of respect."

I rolled my eyes. "So it's okay for you to air our dirty laundry, but when I try, it makes me the bitter, spiteful ex? I'm so glad you could clear that up for me."

"You told him things he didn't need to know about–"

"Who cares? It's ancient history!"

"It's _our_ history–"

There was that pronoun again! "Newsflash: there is no _us_ anymore. It's been a year, and this is the first honest conversation we've had with each other since you moved out. Maybe if you treated me like a human being instead of a speck of dirt, then we'd have fixed this and moved on with our lives. Then we wouldn't be stuck with each other now."

"You're really going to blame this on me?"

"Who else can I blame it on?"

He threw up his hands. "I don't know. Maybe Tori. You know this was her idea. Simon, for being the accomplice. Or we could just blame you, because _you_ agreed to go along with it in the first place. Or did you forget that too?"

"Just because I agreed–"

"Yeah, you agreed. You could've said no, but you didn't. Stop complaining. This is what you wanted, right?"

"No." How could one word be so loud? The rustling from the bathroom slowed, and I swear even the TV went quiet. "Derek, I never wanted this."

I'd meant to snarl the words, but they came out wobbly, like a nervous bird. I felt even more like one when he locked his predator's eyes on mine. His mouth was poised to respond, but he had nothing to say. I stared, eyes wide, cheeks white and cold, my mouth hung open like a door off its hinges. _Where did that come from?_

He shut his mouth, the frown in place, but instead of angry, he just looked sad. The downturn of his lips, the cave of his shoulders – yes, this was sad. Had to be.

He took a step forward, and my heart outpaced the cars on the highway–

Then he stepped back, twisting toward the map and narrowing his eyes again. I blinked. _What is with these mood swings?_

"Ready to go?" I spun to see Simon jogging across the lobby and scoffed. Interruptions. Of course.

Derek grunted in reply, so Simon turned to me. I didn't think he'd heard anything – his face was too relaxed. I licked my lips and blurted the first thing that came to mind. "Almost. I'm going for a walk. Stretch my legs."

I was out before they could change my mind.

* * *

I made it to the walking trails before I started screaming at myself. _You're such an idiot, a complete _ass_. Why would you say something like that? You know what it sounded like; you know how he _heard_ it–_

"Shut _up_," I whispered, pulling out my cell phone. I speed-dialed the first person I wanted to talk to, my breathing shaky for some weird reason I couldn't place. "Come on, pick up, pick _up._"

She answered on the fourth ring with a yawn. "This better be important. I'm trying to take a nap."

"Tori, I–" I cleared my throat. "It's Chloe." There. At least I _sounded_ like myself.

"Yeah, I know. They invented this thing called caller ID. Have you heard of it?"

I ignored her sarcasm, taking another deep breath. "I-I just wanted to check in, see how you were."

"I'm fine," she said. In the background, I could hear a male voice asking her to get off the phone. Adam, her boyfriend. "Hey, do you need anything? I'm really tired–"

I huffed. "I know he's there, Tori."

"So you know why I'm tired," she said. Her voice was lemonade, sweet and sour. "Can I go now? Call you back later?" The last sentence was the only thing that reminded me that we were friends after all these years.

I forced myself to focus. Should I tell her what I said? Could I even admit it? Would she care? There were too many questions and not enough time. I dropped to the bottom of my list of concerns and went with that. "Did you have anything to do with Derek coming?" I asked.

"Derek? What?"

"Derek's here. You have to know, Simon must've mentioned it–"

"Chloe, I don't know what the hell you're talking about." She said it patiently. Condescendingly. I lost my cool.

"Would you at least tell me if you put him up to it?"

She sighed. "I'll tell you whatever you want to hear if it gets me off the phone."

"Tori," I said. I swallowed. It sounded too needy. "So it is Simon."

"If that helps you sleep at night," she said. Not really a yes or no. Adam was calling her again. "Look, I'll call you back, okay? Tomorrow. But I really can't talk now."

"You swear?"

"On Liz's grave." I didn't bother to mention Liz didn't have one. "Talk to you later. Drive safe."

The line disconnected, and I slipped the phone into my pocket. The woods felt thinner.

I followed the trail a little further, attempting to rewire my brain as I went. _It was just a slip of the tongue_, I told myself. _A screenwriter's mentality picking out the cliché line of dialogue_. I thought it over and over until the words blended into a slush, numbing my thoughts like an ice bath. After awhile I realized I was talking out loud. Walking through the forest and mumbling to yourself? I snorted. Maybe I really was schizophrenic–

"Chloe!"

It was Simon. I turned around, and I could see him peering through the trees from the start of the path. "Chloe! If we don't leave now we'll hit rush hour!"

I cursed, but headed back to the car. If I couldn't convince myself it was an accident, Derek's scowl would do the trick.

But when I got back to the car, Derek and Simon had traded places, leaving the driver's seat open for me. Simon tossed me the keys through his open window. "Shotgun," he said, grinning.

I forced myself to ignore the hulking werewolf in the backseat. A few more hours, and I could dump him and his issues on someone else's doorstep.

* * *

We made the final switch without even looking at each other. I stopped for gas on the outskirts of Chicago, leaving the keys in the ignition and running inside to pay cash. When I got back, he was in the driver's seat, and Simon was pumping. I slid into the back, and that was the end of it.

My lack of sleep caught up with me once the car started rolling. I was beat, the traffic was horrible, and I was so close to passing out it was probably better that I wasn't behind the wheel anyway. My head lolled, so I yanked my pillow out from under Derek's bag and shoved it up against the window. A blue-gray line edged out the horizon – Lake Michigan. It wasn't as endless as the Atlantic, but if I squinted, it looked almost the same.

Meanwhile, my brain ran in circles, like a hamster on a wheel. _You broke up with him. You hate him. But you used to love him. But then you broke up with him, because you hate him, even though you used to love him…_

It was a headache I hadn't asked for, but then again I had. Derek started it, but I took it ten steps too far, inviting myself to relive exactly what I was missing. _Be careful what you wish for._

I fell asleep.

I don't know what I dreamt about. It was foggy. I remember trees, and a lake, but that was probably from passing both in the past twenty-four hours. Wolves – black ones with green eyes – and then low, rumbling voices, like thunder on a hot night in June. Rough kisses, saying everything we couldn't, and promises. The forever promises. The I'll-never-leave-you kind that takes forever to come to terms with but only half a second to say.

Maybe that was why I hated him. He'd broken his promise.

"Chloe?" Simon whispered. He nudged me. _Just let me sleep._ "We're here."

My first thought was _where's here_? But I didn't want to ask. Asking would mean waking up, and waking up would mean facing broken promises all over again. It was better to sleep, to pretend…

The car door opened, and I fell into someone's arms. They hoisted me up as if I was made of helium, and I wished I was. I wanted to float away from here. Denial is a heavy sedative, but I was slowly becoming immune.

I wasn't over him. Not even close.

"Where can I put her?" Derek whispered. I could hear his heartbeat through his shirt.

"There's a guest bedroom upstairs," came the reply. A girl. "Second door on the left."

"Thanks," he murmured. We shifted – I felt myself moving forward as he bent down – and I heard a horrible puckering sound.

He'd kissed her on the cheek.

It was dark. Derek carried me up to the room, leaving the lights off, and placed me on the bed. He took off my shoes, and managed to get the covers over me. It almost helped. He was the shadow again, checking to make sure we were safe, saving my bed for last, leaning down to kiss me goodnight…

He lingered, for a second.

When I opened my eyes, he was gone.

* * *

**A/N 1**: The places I mentioned at the very beginning of the chapter are absolutely real, all that I've come across in my research for this story. You can find lists of attractions for all 50 states at www. roadsideamerica .com, as well as some parts of Canada. It's super hilarious! (Did anyone know that there are at least five Paul Bunyan statues in Michigan? O.o)

**A/N 2**: Because I posted this one so early, the following chapter will probably be put off until Saturday (I need at least a night between the rough draft and the edits, lol). Then I'll resume my previous posting schedule. Thanks for reading!

Review!


	5. That's What You Get

_**Disclaimer**__: Not mine. Sad face._

**A/N**: You guys remember Marguerite, my megafoxyawesomehott BFFL? Here's a testament to how amazing she is: I posted chapter four on Monday, she got into a car accident that totaled her van on Tuesday, but STILL sat on the phone with me the next day for almost two hours to help plot. Not even wild blind corners can stop her! Be jealous. (But seriously, she's fine. She wound up with a deep bruise on her elbow and a lot of crushed glass in her clothes, but otherwise she's okay. If she was seriously hurt, I would be too busy sobbing to post anything!)

- _McCbri-Cider_ - I couldn't write a sad ending to a Chlerek fic even if you paid me. I hereby guarantee a happy ending. :D Thanks for reading!  
- _Lauren94_ - Yes, THIS very Saturday! AKA today! Hope this answers a few of your questions. :)  
- _derekluver542_ - I thrive on cliffhangers; they give me a reason to keep reading, lol. Hopefully this chapter meets your Derek quota. XD  
- _Aqua279_ - Dude, I love your school – mine would've been eons better if was allowed!  
- _Winkadink_ - As commanded, an update has arrived!  
- _britt_ - I consider myself a movie-buff but I've still never seen National Lampoon. I know, it's blasphemous (at least that's what everyone tells me). Glad you like it!  
- _moleking_ - Thanks for the encouragment!  
- _RitaRey_ - I SEE YOU! Rofl. XD

Last but not least:

- _everyoneisMISunderstood_ - I know exactly what you mean; reviews are pure motivation. Especially yours :D Suspense over!

* * *

**.: **_**five**_**:.**

_I drowned out all my sense  
__With the sound of its beating  
__That's what you get  
__When you let your heart win_

A jolt near my tailbone shocked me awake, and I shot up in bed like an over-caffeinated Dracula rising from his coffin.

_Bed? What about the car–_

Another shock erased my thoughts, replacing it with a yelp. Underneath the blind panic I could hear a familiar song. _My phone_. I found it in my back pocket, blinking as it rang again. The screen brightening as Rick James's 'Super Freak' blared from the tiny speakers: Tori.

I flipped it open. "Hello?" I looked around, feeling my internal organs shut down as I realized I had no idea where I was.

"Oh, so you _are_ awake. Welcome to the land of the living," she drawled. I pulled the phone away from my ear; her voice was too distracting. I could still hear her. "Can necromancers even do that?" she asked. "I've always wondered, are you, like, partially dead? Or if you're in one of your optimistic moods, we could say partially alive."

I scanned the room. Low ceilings, dark molding, and darker wood floors. There was a window to my left, with a non-view of an alley, filmy white curtains making the dingy glass look even filthier. The nightstand and dresser were wooden monstrosities, commanding their positions against the wall like soldiers outside Buckingham Palace. Two doors meant two possible exits. And then there was the bed itself, the head and footboards an unloved brass. I scrambled out of it, disgusted by the daisy-splattered quilt. Fabric softener hung thick in the air, clinging to dust motes as I skittered across the floor and plastered myself against the wall.

_Yellow walls._

"I was sleeping," I said, trying to make sense of it. Tori stopped talking. "I was in the car."

She laughed. "Yeah, I figured. What's going on besides that?

What could I say without sounding crazy? I floundered, gasping for air as much as I searched for words.

"Chloe?" Her sarcasm dropped a notch, tempered with worry. "Ghost got your tongue?"

I managed a syllable. "Um–"

"'Um' does not a sentence make," she huffed. "What's your problem?"

That I could answer. "I don't know where I am."

She paused. "You what?"

I winced, my brain seizing as it grappled with the words. "I f-fell as-s-sleep in the car. I just woke up. But–" _But what? _"But I'm not in the car."

For normal people, this wasn't too unusual. Stupid, yes, but not unheard of. Normal people could do things like drink themselves into oblivion, and pass out wherever their puke landed or their clothes came off. Normal people could wake up and go home without anyone stopping them.

Unlike normal people, victims of experiments and kidnappings and attempted murder tend to be very careful of where they go to bed. Myself included. I felt the nerves on my spine stand like hackles.

Tori made an odd swallowing sound. "What do you see?"

I blurted out a description of the room, and examining it all again made the panic worse, my heartbeat hammering over my thoughts. "Tori, the walls are this weird yellow, like Lyle, just like Lyle–"

"Calm down," she said. I gave a crazed chuckle. If it were her, she'd be trying to jump out the window by now.

But she didn't give me a chance to tell her that. "You said there's two doors?" I nodded, just to feel like I was doing something. "Check them."

Check them?

_Yes, check the doors, see if they're locked! _I took a deep breath, and despite nearly choking on the perfumed air, I felt a little clearer. Another breath and I was awake, the edges of my vision filling in. "Doors. Check the doors. Right."

I opened the first one – a closet. Winter coats hung from wire hangers, boxes were crammed on the shelves, while sports supplies fought for space on the floor. All harmless. _The other door is the way out_. I left the closet open.

The second knob turned easily, but I didn't open it. "It's unlocked," I said. I was a little rusty, but my instincts still worked. "Stay quiet. If it's clear, I'll tell you."

"Okay."

I opened the door and poked my head out of the room. The hallway was short, two doors on either side, a window at one end and the top of a staircase at the other. Spiders peered down at me from their webs in the corners, one mummifying a fly as I bit my lip.

"I think I'm in a house," I murmured. "An upstairs hallway."

"Are there other rooms up there?"

"Three."

"Check those, too," she said. I was already on it.

The door next to mine opened to another bedroom. This one was shades of green, two twin beds anchoring the space. My breathing eased when I saw the duffel on the edge of the closest bed. _Simon's here_. I relayed that to Tori as I shut the door.

"Do you hear anybody?"

I listened. "No."

"Keep going."

The next room was the biggest, and the only one with an updated look. The black furniture was square and streamlined, with gleaming silver drawer pulls. The walls were a reddish purple, and the bed was the biggest one I'd ever seen. I think they call it a California king.

"There's a purse on the bed in the master bedroom," I noted. At least, I thought it was a purse. It was one of those mini clutches that didn't even have a shoulder strap, slathered in sequins. A fashion statement, not a carryall.

"Check the last one."

The last door was closest to the stairs, and as I came up to it, I heard water running. "I think it's a bathroom," I whispered. "Someone's in the shower."

"Good, take them out while they're naked and defenseless. You got a weapon?"

"No."

"Find one."

I rushed back to the yellow room and the open closet. In the pile of sports stuff, I found everyone's favorite defender from crime: a baseball bat. Then I slunk back into the hall and huddled Bond-style beside the bathroom door. The water roared, but I could hear humming from beneath the spray.

"This is just like Psycho," I whispered, winding my fingers around the bat. The grain was rough, but I didn't catch any splinters.

"You watch too many movies. Now go kill the son of a bitch and get out of there."

I hesitated. "I have to hang up the phone. I can't swing one-handed."

She didn't like that, but she relented. "Call me back."

I clicked off and tucked the phone away. _Deep breaths._ I tried, but it was pointless. When your blood's rushing that hard in your ears, you can't fight the current.

I listened again. Just the water, the shifting of weight, and the humming again. The song perked my curiosity, but before I could place it, it drifted off.

_Focus_.

I stepped toward the door, and my foot found a loose floorboard. I froze. The sound was endless and cut short at the same time, like a dog squealing, and I sucked in a breath, the bat close to my nose.

The water shut off. I waited, hoped, prayed. Waited.

Then there was humming again, punctuated by the squeak of the faucet, a drizzle of water. _Now or never_.

I took another step, my hand reaching for the knob, just as my brain caught the chorus line of the hummer's tune.

_Daydream Believer?_

The door cracked and I kicked it open. It slammed against the inside wall, sounding hollow and icy at once. I heard a clunk – a picture fell off the wall, glass scattering across the floor like fresh snow. The curtains ripped open and I got ready to swing–

"Chloe?" Derek said, suds in his hair. "What the hell are you doing?"

I caught myself just before the downswing, teetering forward as if I'd hit the brakes on my car. "Derek? What–" I blinked, waiting for my systems to kick-start up again.

He stared right back, just as confused, but he kept his wits at hand's reach. "Get the hell out." It could have been a roar in that space. He tried yanking the curtains back into place but he pulled too hard, and the curtain rod came down with a torrent of swears and another crash.

I rocketed out of the bathroom, jerking the door closed and falling against the opposing wall. The bat rolled out of my grip and down the hall, tipping heavy end first over the top stair. It clattered down the steps until it hit something soft, something that also knew how to curse.

Tori infiltrated my mind, somehow always catching my worst moments. _Take them out while they're naked and defenseless_. Derek was definitely naked, but I knew better than to think he was defenseless. I'd seen him do a lot of damage without any clothes on. _Among other things_. My cheeks were on fire.

I couldn't move. I'd never caused so much noise in my life. _So much for Bond_.

Footsteps pounded up the stairs. "Will someone tell me why this bat almost gave me a concussion?"

I turned as Simon reached the top. He held the bat in his hands while he rubbed a spot on his hip, looking ready to use it as a weapon himself. Finally, he cast his eyes on me, and his annoyance faded.

"Shit, don't tell me there's a poltergeist."

"N-no, I–" I used the wall to help me stand, looking from the bathroom to the bedroom to the bat in his hands, half wondering how the hell I had gotten there.

"Chloe?" he said, approaching me like I was an injured deer. "Are you okay? I didn't even know you were up."

"I just woke up," I started, and he nodded expectantly. The anger crawled up and out of my throat before I could stop it. "Where the hell are we? I fall asleep in my car and then wake up in some random bed and you expect me to be okay?"

"Shh, it's okay," he said. He leaned the bat against the wall. "What happened?"

"The room was yellow, Simon," I blathered. I felt salt sting my eyes, and that shook me out of any breakdowns. _It's okay, you're safe, you're fine_. I sighed. "I guess I freaked out. It reminded me of Lyle House and I thought the worst."

He swore again, but crossed the space between us and gave me a one-armed hug. "I'm sorry. It was late when we got here last night and you were beat, so Derek brought you up. I should've left a note–"

A memory of being hoisted out of the car came to mind. "Der–?" I cut the question short with a groan. "You might want to check on him. I almost went Psycho in the bathroom."

Simon quirked a brow, and I told him about my wake up call and morning manhunt. His laughter helped calm my still racing heart. "He can take care of himself," he said, throwing his arm around my shoulder and leading me towards the stairs.

"I broke a picture," I admitted. "The door hit it on my way in."

"Oh, I saw that earlier. It was ugly anyway."

I caught the spell he threw over his shoulder anyway, and the tinkling noise of glass filling a frame.

* * *

The stairs ended in a small foyer, sounds seeping in from all angles. A window beside the front door showed a stamp-sized porch and a busy residential street, but across from it was a hallway that opened out into what I guessed was a living room from the sound of a TV. Derek was still thrashing around in the bathroom, trying to fix the curtain rod. My face went redder than the master bedroom's walls.

Simon stopped me on the last step. "Are you okay now?"

I nodded, concentrating on breathing again. "I just freaked out, I don't know why–"

"It's fine, you had a reason to," he said, but I didn't want him to make an excuse for my stupidity. His next sentence kept me from arguing. "Listen, I'm going to tell you something, and you're not going to like it."

I tried smiling. "As long as the Edison Group isn't involved, I'm sure I'll be fine."

"I doubt that."

My stomach hit the floor like a popped balloon. "Simon, where are we?"

"You wanna go for a walk?"

"Simon."

An apologetic smile quirked his lips. "Promise not to flip?" I answered by narrowing my eyes, and he smiled again. "Okay. Remember how I sad Derek's doing work for one of Dad's cases?"

"Yeah…"

"I left out a part. It's about us."

I snorted. "Us?"

"Well, Project Genesis," he said. "Dad's been tracking down the last of the Edison Group."

"For how long?"

"I don't know, a year or two? He took care of most of them himself, but this one guy is good. I'm taking on level with Dad." He gave a rueful grin. "New identity, new town, keeps his mouth shut, everything. Dad found a trail as far as Chicago, but he's got clients in Boston he can't afford to leave hanging."

I nodded. "So he sent the bloodhound instead."

Simon laughed, agreeing. "And every dog needs someone to hold the leash."

"Is that the friend you mentioned?"

"The very same," he agreed. He cast another look around the foyer. Then he touched my arm, gently steering me up a few steps. "Listen, I was serious about that walk. Maybe we could find a late breakfast, or an early lunch–"

"I'd rather get cleaned up," I admitted. I'd been in the same clothes for almost two days.

"Okay, but after that? I really think you should get out of the house for a while. Derek's probably pissed over the whole almost-clubbing-him thing and you don't want to be around for that–"

"Simon." He shifted where he stood. "What are you hiding?"

"Nothing! I just think you should, you know, explore the city before we leave, stretch your legs." The edgier he got, the shallower my breathing became. "Don't you want to go out?"

Laughter came from the end of the hall, but it wasn't the TV. Simon grimaced before he looked up. I followed his gaze to see a girl our age. An inch shorter than Simon, with plenty of curves, she wore her rust-brown hair in the wispy style mine had never mastered. "Both brothers? How long has that been going on?" she joked, showing off her perfect square teeth.

Our eyes met, her smile brightening, and she hopped up the steps to sweep me into a hug. "I haven't seen you in forever!"

She squeezed, too tight for friends, but not enough to suffocate me.

"Hey Mila," I said, hugging her back. Simon met my eyes over her shoulder and he mouthed the word 'sorry'.

Oh, he had no idea.

* * *

"Mila Andrews," I said, a bump in the road jarring me from my thoughts. "You're kidding me. Mila _Andrews_?"

Simon grit his teeth. "I said I was sorry."

"You could've warned me," I said. "Could've left me sleeping in the car or something–"

"You saw the neighborhood she lives in, that wasn't going to happen."

I rolled my eyes. Point missed.

After escaping Mila's python grip, I went back upstairs and found my bags at the foot of my bed. Then I waited until Derek clambered down the stairs and took the world's quickest shower, changing into a fresh set of denim shorts and a purple t-shirt. Ten minutes later, Simon and I were on a CTA bus headed for the downtown Chicago.

Simon tried to make small talk, but when the bus stopped, I jumped to a lone seat and stuck out my tongue. He shook his head, holding up four fingers. Four stops until I had to deal with him.

I sent Tori a text message, letting her know I was alive and didn't end up killing anybody after all. She must've been waiting by her phone; her reply came back instantly.

_who was in the shower?_

I groaned. _Derek._

_LOL! was he pissed or did he invite you in? ;)_

Cheeks red, I ignored her too.

The bus dumped us off on what had to be one of the busiest sidewalks in town. The crowd pulsed with a beat I didn't want to synchronize with, half electric and half asleep. It was the usual city rush, but instead of keeping their eyes on the ground, everyone faced the world head-on. It felt like everyone I passed was making eye contact, trying to place me in their memories, like my discomfort had been on someone else's face.

Maybe I just felt conspicuous. Mila had the effect on me.

Simon was leading the way down a walkway in Millennium Park. It wasn't Central Park, not even close, but the outdoor sculptures lit a fire in Simon's eyes. Now, we were headed towards what he called the Bean. Whatever that was. He caught my impatient sighs. "Relax. I swear, once they're done with the car, we'll get out of here."

Oh, did I mention it? Turns out in Chicago, you don't _need_ a car. You can get by on a bus or a bike or a train and never set foot in a car for _years_, according to Mila. Cars just aren't _practical_ here. Unless you want to leave town, of course. She asked if she and Derek could borrow the car, her voice light like powdered sugar. I said yes just to keep it from clogging up my ears.

"I read about this awhile ago," Simon was saying. "I should've brought my camera. The perspective would look amazing for this one part in Peter's video game–"

"What exactly is the Bean?" I sighed, mopping sweat away from my eyes. It was early June, but the sun was already baking the smell of Lake Michigan into my clothes.

"It's a sculpture," he said. "It was designed by this guy, Anish Kapoor, and it's supposed to look like a drop of mercury." When I still looked confused, he huffed. "You'll just have to see it." We kept walking, ignoring our growling stomachs.

There wasn't a sign, but once we entered the plaza, I knew we'd found it. In the middle of the crowd sat an enormous metal bean. I couldn't fight the smile that broke out on my face.

The Bean – which Simon later told me was actually called 'Cloud Gate' – was exactly what it sounded like. A bean shape, covered in seamless steel, it looked like a three-story tall ball of liquid mercury frozen in time. The skyline refracted in it like the fisheye lenses I'd worked with at Emerson, but it towered over any projection screen I'd seen, and sucked you in almost as well. The crowd seemed to spin around it like spikes of a sun flare, examining it from every angle.

Simon and I slipped through the crowd to get a closer look, and we found the bean arched upwards underneath so people could walk underneath and stare at their distorted faces. We made more than a few passes under it, laughing at the millions of ways the bends in the metal twisted our reflections.

It was a giant funhouse mirror. Of course Simon would want to see it.

We calmed down after awhile, but kept close enough to touch it, and count the fingerprints from everyone who had. Simon checked himself out, smoothing out his wind-tousled hair like a cheesy Elvis impersonator, and I laughed. The motion caught my eye, and I paused, traces of a smile trickling down my face. Something felt off.

_It's not the three of us,_ I realized, eyes drifting to the space between us.

I thought back to the trip. There had been a moment, even if Derek was pissed about it, where things felt right again. Simon and I were laughing, and there was that moment when I looked over, ready to share the smile with Derek with my eyes, waiting to see it reflected back. But he'd kept his eyes on the road, building a reserve of pissed-off to use against me later.

The fight made the back of my neck heat up with shame. I didn't regret doing what I did, but I did regret letting slip that I was still hurt.

_Do you know anything about loyalty, Chloe?_

I bristled. He didn't have any right to say that. Loyalty was about trust, and he'd screwed that up way before I did.

If I shut my eyes, I could remember last night. The motions and noises crept into my head like earwigs, stealing away my focus. I could remember Derek shifting me in his arms to get a better grip, kicking the door shut, soundlessly walking up to the front steps.

He murmured a question, and got an answer, and rewarded someone with a kiss on the cheek like I wasn't even there.

_Mila._ Why wouldn't he want her? She was gorgeous. She was the exact opposite of me, and that was exactly what he was looking for.

It hurt, like acid on a paper cut. He was so far gone he couldn't see me anymore, and I was still spinning on the spot, waiting for it all to get better.

I didn't want it to matter as much as it did. I wanted it to be nothing important, or simple jealousy, but it didn't stop there. I replayed the moment in my head until I wanted to explode, unable to stop it and afraid to ignore it, because if I did, what would happen next? How would it end?

The acid settled but I still felt waterlogged. It shouldn't matter. It was over, just like he said.

I'd left my apartment sure that I was ready to start over. I just hadn't realized I wanted to start over with him.

My mouth twisted into a grimace, amplified by the curve of the Bean.

"What's wrong now?" Simon whined, catching my look. "I thought we were having fun."

"We are," I said. The smile I fed him was nowhere near convincing. He waited for more, but I didn't have anything. I met my eyes in the mirror, wondering where the deep-set frown had come from, knowing it started with my eyes. When you want to hide everything is when your eyes give it away.

"I don't buy it. What's wrong?" he prompted. Then he led me away from the sculpture, probably to keep me from spoiling the fun.

I sighed, going with my initial reaction. "Why her?"

"Mila?" he said. I nodded.

Simon went for the lowball answer. "Dad asked her to get involved once we found out where this Edison guy was headed. She's been living here for a while, so she knows the area. That's her great-grandfather's house, I think. She said it's been in the family since Prohibition."

I was so sick of guys pretending to be oblivious. "That's not what I meant."

Mila was one of the subjects in Project Genesis, along with Derek, Tori, and I. Like Peter, she'd been "rehabilitated", which meant her powers as a shaman were as useful as a strainer on a sinking boat. She resented the Edison Group just like the rest of us, but instead of seeing her lack of powers as a blessing, she saw it as a curse. The last thing I'd heard about her was that she went to school for the same thing as Derek had – genetics.

I snorted. That was probably why. They did have a few things in common.

"Then what did you mean?" Simon said, playing dumb. We left the plaza and went a little deeper into the park until he found a hot dog vendor. He bought us two Chicago-style dogs, found a bench, and sat down to chow while he waited.

I sat beside him, but I didn't say anything. If I did, it would just play into Simon's scheme. I didn't want to give him the satisfaction.

He watched me pick at the relish falling off my hot dog, and after awhile I figured he was going to drop it. Then he went in for the kill. "You're talking about Mila and Derek," he said.

I blanched. "No." I went from white to red again, and scrambled to cover it up. _Where are those acting skills when you need them?_ I wasn't ready to talk about this; I could pack it all away and deal with it later–

His smug smile was flecked with chopped onions, and he licked them away. _Too late_. I'd been caught. "You are. I knew it. So you were up last night, huh? That's the only way you could've found out."

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"Oh come on, even I thought it was shitty of him. He kissed her with you in his arms. I know the guy isn't a genius when it comes to compassion but seriously–"

"Let it go, Simon," I said. My throat felt smaller and my chest was caving in. My mind tried to spit out excuses for him, remembering _afterwards_, when he'd been so close to kissing me, but it didn't matter. I'd probably made it up, dreamed it, too stupid to take a hint.

I was quiet for too long. "You're really upset, huh?" Simon asked.

I managed to shrug under the weight of my thoughts. "No, I'm just peachy." I passed him a joking smile, but he just stared at me. I huffed. "Okay, yes. I'm upset. Derek got a new girlfriend and I didn't expect it to hurt. And it had to be Mila Andrews–"

"Whoa, slow down," Simon said, waving his hand at me. "First of all, they aren't dating. Not seriously. They only hang out when she's in town, according to Dad."

"Which is how often?"

He didn't answer, and I snorted. For all I knew, she probably kept a spare toothbrush in his apartment.

Simon sighed. "He didn't tell me about her," he said, as if that made it better. "I don't think it's serious. Mila seems to like him – God knows why – but he's lukewarm."

I rolled my eyes. "So says the guy who tried to force us back together in a day–"

"You're still on that?" he said. "It wasn't like that."

"So is Derek right? He thinks it was Tori's idea."

He licked his teeth and took another bite of his hot dog. "Everyone loves a conspiracy."

I dropped it. It seemed petty now that Derek had already one-upped me. He was probably out complaining about me with her as we spoke.

"Hope they find him fast," I muttered. "Then they can spend the rest of his time in town getting p-personal–"

"I don't think it's like that, Chloe. Not for him."

His response was short, like he was bored with the topic. I sighed. It must've been the heat that made everything boil over, but I could wipe up the mess. "I hope he's happy with her."

He snorted. "No you don't."

"I do."

"Nope. Doesn't matter anyway."

"Why not?"

He had the indecency to laugh. "Because he's still not over you. And you're not over him. If you were, you wouldn't be talking to me about this. When did we ever talk about you and Derek before?"

I licked my lips, ignoring him, and inhaled the rest of my lunch.

By the time our hot dogs were gone, Simon's phone rang. I stood up, brushed off the crumbs while he talked, and when he hung up, he stood too. "They just got back, so the car's ready when we are. Derek said he filled the tank."

I nodded. "Good. Ready to get back on the road?"

"Are you going to let me drive?"

"Are you going to magically take that suspension off your license?"

He exaggerated a wince, hissing in pain, and I chuckled as we left the park.

* * *

I don't know what I was expecting when we got back to Mila's, but even Simon fumbled with the knob when we heard Derek's familiar ranting through the door.

We followed the voices into the living room. It was modern, like Mila's bedroom, with straight lines and bright colors. The floor rug looked like a vomited Picasso – an _expensive_ vomited Picasso – and I was a little upset I'd decided to leave my shoes at the door.

I hate to say it, but my eyes went straight to Derek. Fully clothed and dry, his hair looked like he'd forgotten to comb it, and the bags under his eyes looked even darker. I didn't want to think about what he'd been doing last night, so I tried focusing on the smaller things. His wristwatch was so worn it looked ready to snap, showing off the tan line I knew was underneath.

It didn't help much.

On the plus side, he looked pissed. Mila had flung herself over the couch while he paced behind it, her palms pressed against her lids, and I knew she was the focus of his annoyance. I'd done the same thing more times than I could count. _Definitely don't miss that._

"What's the status, bro?" Simon said, clearing his throat. Derek tried wiping the snarl off his face, but it took some work. Mila sighed and answered for him.

"I've been tailing the guy for a week, just keeping tabs on him. Now we're trying to figure out a way to detain him."

_Detain? _I snorted. Who did she think she was, NYPD?

"We can't detain anyone," Derek growled. "We aren't cops."

My mouth twitched, but I didn't smirk.

"Then what are we supposed to do? Ask him to come back nicely?" Mila shot back. She'd swept her hair into a ponytail, but she moved around so much when she talked that it was starting to fall out. "Should we just call the cops on him?"

"Not unless you've seen him break an actual law."

"Experimenting on people isn't legal, you know."

"Yeah, but experimenting on supernaturals isn't possible, because we don't exist."

She rolled her eyes, defeated, and not happy about it. _Been there, done that._

Settled by her lack of argument, Derek threw himself into an armchair, working out his next talking point. Despite the agitation, he looked comfortable, like he spent a lot of time in this room. _No, he's just comfortable with the situation._ That made sense. He'd always felt right when he was working towards something.

Oh, who was I kidding?

"So what's the plan?" Simon asked. He leaned on the arm of the sofa, leaving me standing outside of the circle. I wrapped my arms around myself. I wasn't exactly cold, but alone is almost the same thing.

"Mila says he goes to a bar on the north side on the weekends," Derek started. Mila sat up, relieved that his scorn was gone.

"He practically lives there," she said. "Friday, Saturday, Sunday, goes home just to sleep off his hangovers. We could get him there tonight no problem." She slid a narrowed glare at Derek, but it was too playful, too fake. Derek looked annoyed with it, and I let that idea keep me in the room. "That is, if Derek would just put him in a headlock or something–"

"The whole point of doing this quietly was to keep from causing a scene," Derek said. "There's going to be enough questions when it looks like he skipped town, I don't need them coming after me when some drunk says him and I got into a bar fight. He'd make a run for it once he saw me anyway. He knows my face."

"Why can't Mila do it?" Simon asked. "Can't she talk to him, buy him a drink, flirt a little? She can lead him out to the parking lot and Derek can take him down there."

Derek rolled his eyes like that was exactly what he _wanted_ to do. "Ask Mila."

She wrinkled her nose in distaste. "I've seen that guy, he's a sleaze. I'm not getting any closer than I have to."

Derek looked like he wanted to yell some sense into her, but he got up and started pacing again.

"Mila, Derek wouldn't suggest it if he didn't think you could handle it–"

"I _could_," she said. "But that doesn't mean I _will_. He could take me out with a knock back spell, and then what? I can't defend myself; I don't have any secret weapons like you–"

It always came back to her lack of powers. It was the main reason I didn't like her. It seemed to piss off Derek today too. "You wouldn't be alone. I'd be right there, listening the whole time."

"Yeah, from the other side of the room. By the time you got to me I could be dead already."

"He wouldn't kill you," Simon laughed, earning a derisive snort from Derek.

"He'd try if he's desperate enough."

Simon stopped laughing, and Mila pressed her hands into her eye sockets again. Derek kept pacing.

The idea came easily enough. _I could do it._ I trusted myself to talk to the guy and keep it cool a lot more than I trusted myself to talk to Derek. Compared to that, it would be easy. Chat him up, lead him outside, right into Derek's less-than-protective custody.

It was a risk, of course. But I knew Derek would keep an eye on me. Trust is selective that way.

When Derek made his second lap, close to where I stood, I reached out and tapped him on the shoulder.

He stopped, and our eyes met. I had an explanation on the tip of my tongue, but as soon as he looked at me, I knew I didn't need it.

He shook his head. "No."

"You know I could do it."

"No."

"Why not?"

He took a step closer, too quiet for the others to hear. "One, you're supposed to be leaving for Hollywood. Two, it's not your problem. And three, I don't want you here."

I chewed on my lip, wishing I could find something in his face to tell me he didn't mean that.

Simon had stopped arguing with Mila to watch us. His eyes darted to me, calculating, and then he looked at his brother. "If she wants to do it–"

"No."

"Why not?" Mila said. "She volunteered."

"It's not her job."

I shrugged. "It's just an offer."

"It's stupid."

"Why is it stupid for her but perfectly safe for me?" Mila barked. "At least she can defend herself–"

"What, you don't know how to throw a punch?" he baited. She sat back, and when I would've been mad, she just looked hurt, and a flash of regret crossed his face.

I looked away, adjusting the crooked lampshade on the lamp between us. "I'm smart enough to handle it," I said. "Once you have him, I'll leave. I'm not on a schedule or anything, so I can stay another day if I have to."

"No."

I looked up at the way he said it, like he was ready to shove me out the door. He lived in two different worlds now, and I was trying to stir them together.

Really, I was just offering because I wasn't ready to leave.

"If it doesn't work," Simon said, "I can do a knock back spell."

"That causes a scene–"

"We'll say he passed out and we'll take him home. Simple."

Derek opened his mouth, but Mila looked at me. "Do you mean it?"

I swallowed, waiting for an elaboration.

Her brown doe eyes looked too wide and innocent. "You'll be the bait for me?"

I'd do it for myself, and maybe for Derek, but I didn't really have her in mind at all. "Yes."

She jumped up before Derek could protest, grabbing my hand and dragging me down the hall. "You'll need some background info, and some money. Definitely need a dress–"

"Dress?"

Derek thundered after us. "Mila, I said no. She's leaving, and you're going to do this yourself."

She spun. "And if I don't? What are you going to do, throw me across the room?"

The silence echoed. _He told her? They talked about that? _I was in over my head, what was I thinking? I couldn't stay here and watch this, her reading all my lines, even the ones I'd never say. He looked like he'd been slapped speechless.

But I didn't take back the offer. Instead, I waited, watching the words pass between them without either opening their mouths.

He looked at me, and I held my breath, like a criminal on trial. _You started this._ "Fine. But you leave tomorrow morning."

I swallowed. "Right."

Mila led me up the stairs, chattering about her "recon work" while I figured out why I hadn't changed my mind, what magic had been used against me. The spiders crawled away at the sound of her voice, knowing somehow that she was dangerous, big enough to squish them, smart enough to find them. I should've known better than to offer. I'd walked right into this mess.

But really, it was simple. If he didn't care about me, if he was really so far gone, he would've agreed without a thought. But he fought.

From the word "no", I allowed myself to hope.

* * *

**A/N 1**: Again, the Bean (aka Cloud Gate) is real, and so is Millennium Park. One Chicago landmark had to make an appearance, and taking Simon into consideration, I knew it had to be the Bean. :) Chicago-style hot dogs are topped as follows: chopped onions, relish, a dill pickle spear, tomato slices/wedges, peppers, a dash of celery salt, and mustard. Absolutely no ketchup!

**A/N 2**: I'm honestly not thrilled with this chapter, but if I'd spent the time I wanted to on it, you guys would be waiting forever! So here it is. Maybe one day I'll come back and rewrite it. But for now, I'll start work on chapter six. (By the way, is anyone able to guess which songs I'm going to use? They always feel obvious to me, but that's probably because I know the story, lol.)

Review! :D


	6. Born For This

_**Disclaimer**__: The only way I could ever be Kelley or Hayley was if I dressed up as them for Halloween. Hmm…_

**A/N**: To put it simply – this one took for_ever_. I was afraid we'd be living on the moon by the time I got going. But it's finished, and I actually adore this chapter. But you guys are the real judges!

- _Jace_ - Please tell me your computer survived the week! I couldn't live with myself if my slow updates were the cause of technological abuse! XD Glad you like it!  
- _everyoneisMISunderstood_ - Long chapters are easy; it's editing them down that's the hard part, haha. This chapter has a little more of Mila in it, so you'll be able to make a better judgement. ;) Thanks for waiting!  
- _Lauren94_ - Just to clarify: in this story, Derek never laid a hand on Chloe aside from the incident in The Summoning – I don't think it's in his character, personally. So he might've confided in Mila that incident, or even when he broke the kid's back (read Kelley's novella Dangerous if you haven't already! It's on her website). What did he tell her, and why? Maybe in another chapter ;) Thanks for reviewing hun!  
- _Winkadink_ - Oh, stop, you're making me blush. Haha. But seriously, I'm loving your enthusiasm! Margurite's mine! (Although she said she may possibly be borrowed. XD)  
- _McCbri_-Cider - It's funny that you mention jealousy. ;D  
- _MelKitty_ - The possibilites _were_ endless. Hopefully this one is the best one!  
- _suzi1811_ - I guess that depends on your definition of bad. No tears though! I promised a happy ending! :D  
- _Anonymous_ - Y'know, I had a real stalker at one point (seriously; I ended up leaving my job because of it). But this is _much_ better. Glad you like it!

Shout outs go to _autumncs98_, _TiPSy111_, _charlitheunicorn_, _Tod_, _Crazy. About. Converse._, _Skittles001_, _marlene_, and _Fortune-Teller513_! Thanks for reviewing!

Oh yeah! Marguerite also asked me to thank _Winkadink_ and _everyoneisMISunderstood_ for the well wishes. She's doing much better, and I believe is going to the chiropractor for a few weeks for muscle pain. Somehow she still finds time to read this thing – and all the reviews ;) We both love all of you guys!

* * *

**.: **_**six**_** :.**

_Oh no, I just keep on falling  
__Where's hope when misery comes crawling?  
__With your faith you'll trigger a landslide  
__To kill off this common sense of mine_

We were broken up by Saturday night, but I didn't know until the next morning.

Over the years, I'd gotten used to motel air conditioners. Always rumbling, always a few degrees too cold, tricking you into staying in bed until you missed checkout time. Out of all the ticks I could've picked up, this was the easiest one to adjust to – buy a thick comforter, and jack up the AC at night. Later, when Derek and I moved in with together, he let me keep the habit. AC plus long nights equals cold mornings. It also equaled minutes spent warming up in bed. Derek is all about the math.

If anything, it helped keep us going that last year. No matter how bad the argument was the night before, I still woke up as an ice block. Begrudgingly, I'd roll over, and press my cold lips against his shoulder, borrowing his body heat.

Within seconds, I'd be in his arms, warm and whole, reminded of why I stuck around.

But when I woke up that Sunday to find his side of the bed still fixed, a chill that had nothing to do with temperature slid like a glacier across my spine.

_You took it too far, Chloe._

I rolled out from under the blankets in a threadbare shirt, barely wincing when my toes hit the frosty floor. I shuffled out of the room, bypassing the thermostat. I wasn't sure I wanted to regain the feeling in my fingers just yet.

I made the rounds, starting with the living room. The couch showed no signs of being slept on. My knit Emerson blanket was strewn across the floor – exactly where I'd thrown it the night before. I straightened a lampshade before moving on, and picked up the pillow I barely remembered throwing at it. The mess was mine, so the filter of guilt didn't surprise me. It just forced me out of the room that much faster.

Next was the second bedroom. If you asked Derek's family, it was a guest bedroom, usually reserved for Simon. If you asked my family, it was Derek's room. A willful delusion on Aunt Lauren's part, and an assumption on Dad's. Either way, it was empty.

_Did I really sleep through it?_ I padded back to our room and went straight for the dressers, opening one drawer, then a second, and a third. All empty. Then I checked the closet, throwing open the doors and flicking on the light. Not even a coat hanger dangled from his half of the closet.

The bookshelf had been hollowed out. The drawer of his nightstand was spotless. Even the pictures I'd forced him to frame were missing.

We had a small bathroom attached to the bedroom, and I had to drag myself to peer into it, grind my eyes toward the counter. It had always sagged under the weight of my things. It looked bare without his toothbrush.

I turned to leave, but I stopped. Some mornings, after his shower, he'd forget his wristwatch on the sink.

My eyes flicked back. Nothing.

I moved through the rooms like a ghost until my feet jumped from a deeper chill. I was in the kitchen, the only room left.

I found the note on the fridge, circled by alpha-magnets from Simon. I used them the most, making choppy grocery lists and feeling out dialogue for my scripts, but we had one system for them. The red 'C' meant notes from me. The blue 'D' meant notes from Derek.

He'd slapped it under a green 'X', a check peeking out from underneath.

_Took my name off the lease this morning. Here's my half of the rent._

The twist in my stomach stopped twisting, and my eyes stopped seeing. The linoleum floor bit at the arches of my feet as if I was barefoot on an ice rink. My eyes drifted from the note, without a signature, to the check, his scrawl warring with the tiny space, to the magnets, spread out, as if he'd been searching for something…

_No, he found it_. The mess was too deliberate. He'd been trying to hide the obvious.

The blue 'D' was missing.

My nails scraped the fridge as I grabbed the check. I tore into it before I could think, and a breath later, I had a palm full of corporate-colored confetti. The only thing he'd left me.

I swiped the pieces into the trash and went back to bed, welcoming the wintry sheets as hot tears threatened to fall.

* * *

I shook off the memory, removing my hands from the cool silk of Mila's comforter, and sucked down as much oxygen as my lungs would hold. I blew it out slowly, until it warmed my lips, and the exotic summer heat reminded me of where I was. _Calm down. That was a year ago. You aren't even home now._

I focused on the bedroom itself, but it only took me a second to notice I was really looking for something of Derek's.

Mila pulled a brick-thick stack of folders from one of the black dresser drawers, sighing as her fingers stepped across the edges. "If Derek raids the fridge, we should have time to get through it all…" She tossed me a look, lips pursed. "On second thought, I'll give you the condensed version. It's easier to digest."

My nod lacked enthusiasm, but so did her smile. As good as it would get without the boys hovering nearby.

It still threw me how different we were. Mila was the kind of girl that jingled when she walked, like a walking piggy bank. Her accessories seemed inspired by a Google search on shamans, more a Hollywood cliché than a real supernatural. Her clothes were normal, shorts and a t-shirt, but her throat was draped in at least six different necklaces of clashing colors and metals, clinking together like sleigh bells. Her right wrist was crowded with bangles, her left hand weighted with rings.

It would've been a lot for me, but she looked kind of cute. _Toddler-playing-dress-up cute._ My mouth twitched.

She tossed her folders onto the bed, where they landed with an airy smack on a feather pillow, and then bent down to unbuckle her gladiator sandals. After two long minutes, she kicked them off and sat down, clambering into the middle of the bed and crossing her feet.

"I did a lot of research," she said, taking on the air of a professor. My acting coaches at Emerson would've loved her. "Derek seemed to think it was overkill, but I'd rather be prepared than caught off guard."

"If I'm playing a stranger, I don't think I have to know that much."

She gave a prim smile, annoyed with the interruption. She opened a folder and drew out a grainy eight-by-ten. "First of all, his name is Grant Langworthy. He goes by an alias, Grant Lincoln, and his story is that he moved here from New York for the sports."

"Sports?"

She shrugged. "I think he means it as a joke, since he's a Cubs fan, and they haven't won a game in…" Her brows knitted together. "Well, I'm not sure how long. I'll have to look that up."

"Is it important?"

She chuckled, looking at me as if I'd visibly dropped a few IQ points. "If I don't find out, it'll drive me crazy." Then she shook her head, still giggling. "Point is, that's a topic that'll get his attention – baseball."

"Um, right."

She passed me the picture like it was a reward. _Lord, give me patience._ A family history as long and dry as the Sahara flew from her lips, some tax jargon thrown in, but I knew it was more for her ego than because I needed to know it. I focused on the image instead. It was an angled shot, probably Mila's handiwork, catching the profile of a man entering a bar. Aside from the size of his ears – I'd seen smaller Buicks – he looked perfectly normal. Graying brown hair, the beginnings of a beard, and a non-existent chin. It was evening in the picture, but he still wore sunglasses. Mousy and weasely at once. I wrinkled my nose in disgust.

"If you think he looks like a sleaze, it's because he is. He's with a different girl almost every time I see him, and by the looks of them, they're prostitutes." I looked up in time to catch her giving me a hasty analysis. "I think he'll like you. He goes for younger blondes. Usually not so short but–"

_Gee, thanks_. I cut her off before she could really get going. "Any other turn-offs?" I joked.

She found another folder and pulled out a list – a _list_ – her slanted handwriting matching the slant of her mouth while she thought. "He hates pushy girls. I saw him get into a fight with one girl last weekend. It sounded like she wanted to go back to her place, and he wasn't hearing it. So keep your mouth in check."

"_My_ mouth?" I mumbled, eyebrow raised.

She was digging through her pictures, though, too distracted too hear. Once she found what she was looking for, she handed it to me. It showed the bar in its entirety, a ramshackle building that reminded me of Buffalo. "This is his favorite place, The Speakeasy. If you know anything about Prohibition, say it. He's a history nut, and goes there because of the name." She sniffed. "There are way better places, but they let him bring in his girls, so I think it's his best option."

"Where is it?"

Another folder contained a map, red dots spread across the city, headed 'Places of Interest'. "My place is here," she said, pointing to the northern half of the city. "He lives down here," to the south, "and the bar is over here," to the southwest, almost out of town. "We should take the car," she said, perusing the map as she nibbled on a pinky nail. "I usually take the train, but with three more people, he'd notice us following him around. Plus we need a way to get him back here."

"Why not have one of us follow him on the train and the rest of us take the car? Just so we don't lose him."

She snorted, "I don't think so."

"Why not?

"Because I would be the one to follow him, and you'd be out of a navigator. I don't like the idea of you guys driving around a new city by yourselves. You could get lost and then the whole thing would be scrapped."

_That's not the whole reason,_ said a nagging voice in the back of my head. I brushed it away. "Okay." I searched around for another topic. "What are you going to do with him?"

"Put him in the basement, tied and gagged so he can't cast. Then find a way to bring him back to Boston."

"Didn't think that far ahead?" I attempted to tease. She'd thought of everything else.

She sighed. "That's Derek's department. I'm the brains, he's the muscle."

_Since when?_ Derek couldn't even mow the lawn without a strategy. "I'm surprised," I found myself saying. "He normally has to be both."

"Oh?"

"Yeah. He has to do everything himself. Some would say he's a control freak." My mouth quirked, not quite a smile. "It's the definition of Derek."

She blinked, as if I was speaking gibberish. "I kind of doubt that."

"What's to doubt about it?" I asked. _I've known him longer. I know him better. Better than anyone. How can you doubt that?_

"He's the one who suggested we split the workload," she said. Then she smiled, running a hand over her bracelets. They rang like wind chimes as she met my gaze. "We make an industrious couple."

Couple. _Couple_. The word entered my brain, scrapping the walls when I needed quiet, digging holes where I needed bridges. After a second, I managed to say, "I see," which was better than my other knee-jerk reaction: _you stupid bitch_. "For how long?"

She looked down, cheeks red, like she was embarrassed. "Recently."

Acid rose in my throat. "Funny, he doesn't strike me as your type."

She met my eyes at that, but then went right back to being guilty. Oh yes, definitely an actress in a former life. "Derek doesn't really fit into a preset type."

It kept coming. "You haven't really known him that long."

She started gathering her papers, leaving the pictures of Langworthy and the bar in my hands, as if I'd infected them. "Long enough." Then she jumped off the bed, leaving me to think while she rummaged in her closet.

_Couple couple couple couple_– I don't know why it surprised me; hearing it from her just confirmed my suspicion. But once it was out, I was on fire, every organ working double time to help feed the rush of jealousy. Everything went green, even my own face, but that was probably just because I was ready to puke.

I'd never seen myself as the jealous type, but with my experience limited to Derek, I'd never really had an opportunity to test it, had I?

_Industrious couple_. Who talks like that? What the hell does industrious even _mean_?

I was in new territory, without a map, and now I had an enemy. Jealousy was just the first landmine I would step on. My mind said to be rational, but I didn't listen. It wasn't fair. I went through all that crap just to have her waltz in and go all vocabulary on me?

_Having a tantrum is just going to make it worse._

True. Very true. I had to control my reactions before I did something I'd regret.

But I couldn't just ignore the obvious. I was jealous, insanely, my thoughts shredded to pieces, stomped down by a new obsession. _What does he see in her? What does she have that I don't? Why her? When? Does he love her?_

No. It hadn't been that long. I still had time.

Time for what?

_Time to show him what he's missing._

When Mila came back, a pile of clothes tumbling from her arms, I stood up. "I have my own things to wear," I said. "Thanks anyway."

I left her bedroom, pictures in hand, ready to plant a landmine of my own.

* * *

If I'd learned anything from spending a year attached to Tori's hip, it was confidence. You can pull off anything with a little confidence.

But heels require one more thing – balance.

"Whoa," Simon said as I tripped down the stairs. He caught me before I hit the floor, swinging me back up to my feet, and laughed when he noticed we were the same height. I bit back a swear.

"I'm not good with heels," I said, grabbing hold of the railing to steady myself. "I probably should've practiced–"

He laughed again. "I meant the dress."

I blushed. "Oh."

"You look good, Chlo," he said. He took me by my free hand and spun me around. When I faced him again, his smile was fading.

"What?"

Now it was a full-blown frown. "You look _too_ good."

My ankles wobbled beneath me, amplifying my nerves. "I thought that was the point."

He eyed me for a while, and I fidgeted. I wasn't use to dressing up, and the scrutiny made my discomfort even worse.

He finally took his eyes off me to roll them towards the ceiling, and I relaxed. "What are you doing?"

"Nothing."

"Chloe."

"It's nothing."

"Yeah, a few hundred dollars worth of nothing."

It was my turn to roll my eyes. "Eighty, tops."

It was a lie, but not a big one. I didn't actually know the price. It'd been a birthday gift from Tori. She wanted me to have one good partying outfit for our trip, so she'd convinced me to pick out my first LBD – little black dress. It was simple, form fitting to show off the few curves I had, with blue undertones when the light hit it just right. The skirt ended about mid-thigh, and if I didn't watch it, I'd probably give everyone a peek at my underwear when I stood up.

The rest of my getup was in the details. At first, I'd mussed up my hair in an effort to look like a barfly, but I just didn't have the face for it. I clipped some of it back instead, somehow achieving that just-rolled-out-of-bed look. Add some mascara, some shimmery eyeshadow, and the strappy heels Aunt Lauren had given me, and I actually looked my age. Maybe I'd get through the night without being carded for once.

Mila came into the hall to give me a once-over, a bowl of pasta in her hands. Was it dinnertime already? "I love your dress," she said, twirling spaghetti around her fork. "It's very… mature."

I reigned in the urge to snark back. "Thanks."

Then she looked at my feet. "You're gonna die in those heels, though."

She turned back down the hall before I could find a comeback.

Simon huffed. "Chloe, don't start anything. It's not worth it."

"All I did was put on a dress," I muttered, heading toward the smell of food. He caught my wrist, and I teetered again.

"You're hurt," he said. "Don't give him a reason to make it worse."

I raised my eyebrows. "So you think I did this for his benefit?"

"Obviously."

"You actually think he'll notice?"

"If he doesn't, he's in the closet."

I smiled. "Well, let's go find out."

He rolled his eyes again, but he finally led me towards the kitchen.

I didn't pay attention to how Mila had decorated this room – my eyes went straight to the table, and the distance between the people around it. Mila sat at one end, and Derek sat at the other. His back was to me, and he didn't turn around, too busy wolfing down his dinner.

Mila jabbed her fork at the counter. "There's a plate for you. I figured you'd want to eat before we go."

"Thanks." I stepped around the table and grabbed the dish of spaghetti, inhaling while I wondered how to avoid spilling it on my dress. "Looks good, Mila."

"Derek made it," Simon piped up. He was sitting at the table with a plate himself, trying to load up on extra parmesan without his brother noticing. But Derek looked up at the sound of his name, gave him a look, and Simon passed the cheese over with a groan.

I walked around the table and set my plate down with a clink. Derek finally looked up, and our eyes met. I cleared my throat. "Thought it looked familiar."

He looked at me, eyes drifting over the dress, my hair, my face, pausing there the longest. He did it all in a second, too fast to be a leer, but enough to take everything in. He looked back at his food, hair falling over his eyes. "It's a little different."

I passed Simon a smirk. It was a start.

* * *

The walk from the car to the Speakeasy wasn't long, but I considered it a victory that I didn't trip even once. Even better, Derek kept shooting me glances, even though Mila was trying to command his attention with more detailed descriptions of Langworthy's drinking habits.

_Confidence_, I told myself, taking longer strides. _Walk tall. Own it._

He looked again, and I tripped. _Just don't own the pavement._

We rounded a corner, and we were just a few doors down from the bar. Derek cleared his throat. "Ready?"

"I think I can handle it."

He nodded, testing the air for a scent, but didn't find anything worth mentioning. He looked me in the eye. "When you get in there, sit by yourself. You're alone, new in town, don't blow your cover. Once you see him – _alone_ – get close and wait for an opening to talk to him–"

"Let him talk to you," Mila blurted. "Remember, baseball, history–"

Derek waved her away. "Talk to him, let him think you're interested. Keep the conversation on him. I'll be listening."

"If he takes it too far, look for me," Simon said. "I'll take him out as soon as I have a clear shot."

"If it works," Derek said, oddly careful not to say what the actual goal was – getting Langworthy interested in sex, "make sure he follows you to the car. Make up an excuse, doesn't matter. Just make sure he goes with you to the car. I'll follow you out and take care of the rest."

I still wasn't sure how he'd do that, but I didn't bother asking. "Where are you going to be?"

"I'll be by the door," Derek said, ingraining the words into my mind with his tone. Just like old times. "Simon will stay closer."

Simon smirked, fingers sparking. "Locked and loaded."

I smiled. This was almost fun.

Mila cleared her throat. "He should be inside by now," she said. She looked up at Derek. "Where do I go?"

He blinked, as if he'd forgotten she was there. _Wishful thinking_, I warned myself. "You come with me," he said. Then he looked at me, eyes narrowed. "I'll be listening."

"Yes, sir."

I split away from them, inserting myself into a passing crowd. When we passed the bar, a few turned in, and I followed them through the door.

Once inside, I wanted to gag. All I could smell was cigarette smoke, and possibly something earthier. But I kept my face calm, scanning the bar first. I found Langworthy by the ears. I took a deep breath. Step one, check.

I shuffled through the crowd for a while, until I found an empty table that kept Langworthy in my sights. I sat down, and a passing waiter asked if I wanted anything, hardly shy with the way his eyes roamed over my legs. I tucked them under the table and ordered a beer, not tempted to have anything stronger with this many guys around. Plus, I had work to do.

I let my eyes roam to the door, just as Derek, Simon, and Mila stepped in. Derek found me instantly, and pointed me out. Simon followed his gaze, but Mila's went straight for the bar, finding Langworthy with a scowl.

I nodded at the boys, taking a swig of my drink to make it casual. Simon laughed and muttered something to Derek, who smacked him in the back of the head. Simon took off for my side of the bar, joining the loudest group in the room, and Derek dragged Mila to a table near the door.

_Focus_. My eyes flicked to Langworthy. I won't pretend to know much about alcohol, but it looked like he was drinking a scotch. He'd propped his sunglasses on top of his head, beady eyes on the glass as he swirled the liquid in lazy circles. I finally noticed the girl chattering beside him, a brunette, maybe thirty, but obviously too close to his age. He ignored her. Not his type, not worth his time.

I thought back to Emerson, remembering all the plays I'd been required to act in, always landing a bit part. But even when you're behind the main event, you have to act the part. I couldn't just sit here. _Scope out the room._

My eyes snapped to Derek. Mila was sitting next to him, looking anxious, but he was watching me like a hawk. Our eyes locked for a split second, and I thought I saw a smile–

He jerked his chin in the direction of Langworthy. _Get back to work._

I did, promptly rewarded for it. The brunette seemed to have realized he wasn't interested, finally walking away. He downed the last of his scotch and ordered another, the bartender slapping it down before he even finished the question.

I almost jumped up. _Lazy. You're scoping. Be cool._ I stood, looked around, and made a slow trek across the room. Patience paid off. The seat beside him was suddenly empty. I dropped my beer on a random table and walked up to the bar, pretending my fingers weren't trembling like tuning forks.

When I took my seat, the bartender raised his eyes in an unasked question. "Scotch on the rocks?" I said, inwardly wincing. I imagined Derek rolling his eyes and sighed. "Make it a double."

The bartender looked skeptical, but he poured the drink anyway, and slid it down the counter. I caught it, almost grinning when it didn't slosh onto the table, and took a sip. I held back the hiss as it burnt the back of my throat. _Too strong, very strong. No more of that. Ever._

Langworthy's voice surprised me. I guess I expected a synthetic accent, something nondescript from spending too much time in a lab. But it was pure New York. "Big drink for a girl your size," he said.

_Show time. Let's see if Dad's tuition money paid off._ I pulled on a smile and flipped back my hair, channeling Tori. Then I met his eyes – a dull gray – and laughed. _Now speak_.

I said the first thing that came to mind. "I think I can handle it." I almost snorted. I'd said the same thing to Derek not fifteen minutes ago. I forced myself to take another sip, and Langworthy's smile grew.

"What's your name?"

"Chl–" I cleared my throat. _Different name._ "Lauren." Another smile, another sip. "You?"

"Grant." He held out his hand and we shook. _He's hurt people with these hands._ I disconnected, listening to his words, easier to take in that familiar voice. "I haven't seen you around here before."

I shrugged, nervously flipping my hair again. _Tone it down._ "I'm new in town," I said. "Still trying to find a regular place."

"You should come here. A little seedy, but you can't beat the atmosphere."

I looked around, taking in the flavor at his suggestion. It felt a little themed, all the employees in suspenders and white button downs with the sleeves rolled up. Memorabilia from the twenties – pictures, newspapers, knickknacks – lined the paneled walls, and I half-expected the boss to come in dressed as Al Capone. I turned back, hair twisting just out of reach, my perfume wafting over his nose. "It's nice," I said. "Vintage. Prohibition, I think?"

"Good," he said. He flagged down the bartender and ordered another drink. "How long have you been in town?"

"A week."

"Oh, so you don't know much about Chicago history, huh?"

My answer surprised me. "Haven't found a good teacher yet."

He smiled. My skin crawled.

"Hey, blondie."

I twisted, finding a redhead squeezing himself in next to me. He grinned, showing off yellowing teeth, and took a drag of a cigarette. "Nice dress."

Ash from his cigarette plopped onto my skirt, and I brushed it off. "Um, thanks."

"Can I buy you a drink?" Red asked.

"I already have one," I said, looking at Langworthy and rolling my eyes. _Go away, go away, go away._

"You can always have another. What are you drinking? Scotch? You look like a rum and Coke girl to me."

"Too sweet."

"Leave the lady alone," Langworthy said, leaning over the bar to get a better look at his new rival. It made him look more like a stern father than a spurned interest. "She's with me."

Red snorted. "Sure, Gramps." He blew smoke out his nose, hailed the bartender, and ordered me what he thought I should be drinking.

I wanted to twist back, find Simon or Derek in the crowd, but it would blow my cover. I just had to ride through this, and hope Langworthy had a few ounces of chivalry in him. _Think alone. Think vulnerable._

With my main defenses on the other side of the room, it wasn't hard to find my motivation.

Red passed me the drink. "Just a sip, babe. What's your name? No, let me guess. I'm a natural for names."

"I bet." I turned to Langworthy with pleading eyes, and he made to stand up, his hand on my elbow.

Red was still going. "Starts with a C, right? Catherine. No, too old-fashioned. Carmen? Christa?" He took a swig of beer and another puff from his smoke. "No, I've got it. Chloe. You just scream Chloe." He leaned close to my ear. "I can have you screaming by the end of the night, babe. Here, just have a sip–"

I looked at Langworthy, ready to escape, but he'd frozen. He stared at me with scientist's eyes, narrowed as he picked up the details, then widening as he added everything together. "Chloe Saunders?"

I blanched, and Red laughed. "So I'm right?"

Langworthy's hand flew up, mouth moving to cast a spell. _Shit_.

"Lauren, where the hell have you been?"

I almost didn't respond, because it wasn't my name. But I knew that voice. All three of us spun, and Derek barreled down on us, earning swears and shoves as he forced his way through the crowd. Mila was gone.

I turned back, but Langworthy had already disappeared.

"Hey, good job, dude!" Red said, clapping Derek on the arm as he reached me, his hand falling on my shoulder. "You got rid of Gramps. Now it's a fair competition, huh?"

Derek's nostrils flared, probably looking for Langworthy. "We're leaving."

I jumped up, slapped a twenty on the counter, but Red grabbed my wrist. "You didn't try the drink I got you, babe."

Derek nudged me aside, reached for the rum and Coke, and brought it to his nose. Somehow he got even angrier. He slammed the glass on the bar, rum splashing over the edge and splattering his hand. He pinned Red with a glare. "I don't think she wants that."

"That's perfectly good booze–"

"So you just put a roofie in there for flavor?" Derek snarled. He yanked me closer to his side, and I couldn't find it in me to complain. "Get out of here before I call the cops."

Eyes wide, Red stamped out his cigarette and took off.

Derek watched him leave, and then gave the bartender a warning. Stunned, I let him drag me through the bar and out to the street, Mila and Simon still missing.

He looked down both sides of the street, but Langworthy was long gone. "I knew this was a bad idea–"

I snapped out of it. "It was _your_ idea!" I huffed, wrenching out of his grasp.

"You messed it up," he said, searching with his eyes and his nose. But it was too crowded. Finding a specific scent would be almost impossible. "He recognized you; he must've seen you at some point when you were in the lab–"

"That was years ago, he wouldn't have if that guy hadn't tipped him off–"

"He would've figured it out anyway, you would've screwed up–"

"Because I ruin everything, huh? It was going fine until you stomped over–"

"I saw him put something in your drink–"

"I wouldn't have taken it!"

"Guys, quiet!" Simon finally hurtled down the steps, Mila at his heels. I'd never seen her look so angry.

"You lost him!" she said, eyes on me, mascara running in angry lines down her cheeks. She was chewing on her pinky again. "I've followed him for ages and the first time he sees you, you _lose_ him–"

"Shut _up_," Simon roared. He grabbed me and dragged me to an alley, the others following, everyone talking over each other. I didn't know who was saying what, so I settled with haughtily smoothing out my dress. Then I heard Simon muttering what sounded like Latin under his breath. His hands twitched, swore, and tried again.

"What are you doing?" I spluttered, trying to get the attention off me. Derek and Mila shut up, looked, and Derek cursed, this time in relief.

"Locator spell?"

Simon nodded, still casting, and eventually the spell took hold. He opened his eyes. "He's heading north."

Derek sighed. "Can you follow him?"

"Maybe. If we stay close."

"Mila, take Simon and follow him. He'll keep to the trains and the buses, right?"

"He should," she said, but she threw me a look, as if she doubted it now.

"Go. Call me if you need anything. Chloe and I are going back to the house."

Simon dragged Mila away before she could say anything, and Derek pulled me in the opposite direction, towards the parked car. "Why are we going back to the house?"

"To pack."

_Of course._ "Fine, I'll leave. Go with them. I think I know how to pack by myself."

"Yeah, but I need to pack," he said. We found the car and he pulled out the keys, already too comfortable with clicking open the lock.

"What for?"

He opened the passenger side door and waited until I got in, slamming it shut. Two seconds later, he was in the driver's seat, starting the car and shifting into gear, pulling out into impossible traffic. "He's going to leave town. I'll have to follow him."

"How?"

He passed me a look. It was too dark to read everything in it, but his voice dripped with sarcasm. "Can I borrow the car?"

"No," I said, but that wouldn't help anything. _No tantrums._ "Fine. But I'm coming with. Where my car goes, I go."

"Fine." He made a ballsy move and changed lanes. Horns blared behind us. "But Mila comes, too."

My gut twisted, and I couldn't answer right away.

"Chloe?"

_Tell him no._

I stared out the window and settled for crossing my arms. "Fine."

* * *

******A/N 1**: Fun fact – the Cubs haven't won a World Series game in **_102_** years. Why? Well, most people (my family included) blame the Billy Goat Curse. Google it! :)

**A/N 2**: I know I have a lot of Paramore fans reading, so I figure this might be of interest. Originally, I thought this chapter would be the one everyone expected since Mila's appearance – Misery Business. But my mind dragged me to two _other_ songs. The first scene I wrote was Mila and Chloe in the bedroom, which I drafted to Playing God. The rest was done to My Heart and the acoustic version of Misery, but neither felt right. I had to put my entire music collection on shuffle before Born For This came up, and finally everything clicked!

Review!


	7. Turn It Off

_**Disclaimer**__: I'd give up almost anything to have Hayley's singing voice and my very own Derek Souza, but neither of them is up for auction on eBay… Think I should try Craigslist?_

**A/N**: Misguided Ghosts is now only one review away from matching Underdog as my most-reviewed story. Cyber cookies all around! XD But seriously, thanks guys. It's so nice having my "regulars" (never thought that would happen!) and fresh faces as I post each chapter. Number one thing you all must know: I heart you all more than a Jimmy Stewart marathon. Which is A LOT.

_**For those of you who were confused by the previous chapter–**_ The very first scene (and I always divide my scenes by the ever-helpful horizontal bars) was a FLASHBACK, and depicts the morning after Derek leaves Chloe. The scenes following, starting with the one in Mila's bedroom, are all present day. I chose not to mark it clearly in order to jar the reader's focus, as I imagined the recollection jarred Chloe's focus as well. It was an editing choice, and Marguerite advised against it, but it felt like the proper way to tell the story. Most of you got it, so I don't regret it. But just so you know: _You'll see more flashbacks in THIS chapter_. I'll clear up at the end just to make sure we're all on the same page, mmkay? :)

- _marlene_ - I know, they're being absolutely horrible to each other. But it's justified, I promise. Hope this chapter cheers you up some. :)  
- _everyoneisMISunderstood_ - I think my A/N should help in the confusion department. But if something really doesn't make sense, let me know. I write this for fun but it also helps me develop my skill!  
- _McCbri_-_Cider_ - What's a romance story without a little drama? ;D On a side note: what does your pen name mean?  
- _Anonymous_ - To differentiate between you and any other potential anons, I've come to pronounce your handle like this: Anon A. Moose. So until you think of a name, that's what I shall call you. I make no apologies.  
- _Lauren94_ - Believe it or not, Mila does have an alterior motive!  
- _suzi1811_ - Your reviews always give me so much to think about! Take these cyber cookies as my token of thanks. :D  
- _Nieve79_ - Please don't jump into the computer. I'm totally against electronics abuse! XD

Shout outs go to _inge16_, _elliesweets_, _jaimee_, _Violentious Starr_, and _toolazytosignin_!

Enjoy!

* * *

**.: **_**seven**_** :.**

_Well I can see behind the curtain  
__The wheels are cranking turning  
__It's all wrong the way we're working  
__Towards a goal, that's nonexistent  
__It's nonexistent... but we just keep believing_

_It's your fault_.

But it wasn't my fault. Not entirely…

_You were a liability._

Okay, so I overdressed for the occasion. That doesn't make me–

_It was your suggestion._

There was nothing I could say to that, but I wanted to argue. I wanted to prove that this wasn't my fault. I wasn't the reason Derek and I were driving alone to Mila's apartment, plan ruined, stuck with each other again, and forced to endure the hollowest silence in the history of awkward.

But the fact is, it _was_ my fault. It wouldn't have happened at all if I hadn't given them the idea. Talking myself out of the guilt wasn't an option.

But could I talk someone into sharing it with me?

"You shouldn't have done that," I said, not even facing him. "You should've let me handle it–"

He snorted. "How? Flirt him into submission?" He meant the guy from the bar who'd tried to drug me.

"Langworthy was just about to rescue me from him and you know it, you're like a walking surveillance camera. Listening and watching and–"

"You wanted him to _rescue_ you?" He sounded like he'd rather chew on Simon's gym shorts. I flushed.

"No, I mean, he was about to leave with me, to get away from that guy–"

"Didn't look like it."

I made a fist, nails bending with the pressure. "Conveniently enough."

"If I was being convenient, I would've left you at the bar."

_He's lying_. Even as he was telling me he hated me, I found ways to justify it. I swallowed hard against the sudden flood of anger. _No tantrums, no tantrums, no tantrums_…

We turned onto Mila's street, where he found a parking space close to her house. It was a tight fit between a jeep and an SUV, but he managed, allowing himself a smug smirk as he threw the car in park.

As soon as the car was still, the engine stuttered, and Derek's face fell. The whole car shook, as if someone had poured black coffee into the gas tank, making me sicker than I already felt. Then it jolted, and my cell phone slipped out of my hands and into the footwell, lost in the dark beneath the seat.

Derek twisted the keys, and the engine stopped. Then he turned them again, and the car started up like it always had. No shakes, no jitters, just the hum of the engine announcing it was ready to go again.

Derek let out an uneasy breath, turning the car off again and pocketing the keys. "Nice choice in car," he huffed, stepping out onto the sidewalk.

"You're the one who helped me pick it out!" I sprung out of the car, dodging traffic with grace fuelled by irritation. We tied on our way to the front stoop, where he shook his own key ring until he found one for Mila's door.

"If you'd taken your dad's offer I wouldn't have had to do anything."

"So all that talk about taking care of myself was just bullshit? I should've just let Daddy handle all my money woes for the rest of my life? For a Taurus?"

"Would've saved me the trouble of fixing the piece of crap," he said, opening the door and disappearing into the darkened hall. I followed him in and shut the door, almost blinded by the darkness. His footsteps, usually missing, pounded up the stairs.

"It's not a piece of crap," I called, stepping into the dark, fumbling for light switches. My heel caught on a rug, sending me face first into the stairs. Swearing, I pulled myself up and climbed them, lights forgotten.

Just as I topped the stairs, a light flicked on from deep inside Mila's room. I stomped towards it, shoes clacking, and found him in her closet. Hangers clattered as he hunted through her things.

"It wasn't a piece of crap," I said, still annoyed. "You specifically _told_ me it wasn't a piece of crap. That's why I bought it, because _you_ said–"

"I said a lot of things I shouldn't have, okay?" He stopped searching, suddenly filling up the doorframe, silhouetted by the closet's one bare bulb.

Standing in his shadow, I felt ridiculous. Why was I always picking a fight? But I already knew the answer. It was an excuse to talk to him.

The regret spread over my face, and I swear the hard lines of his shoulders softened. "Derek, I–" I stepped forward.

He thrust a duffel bag into my arms, putting distance between us. "Get some of her clothes together."

Whatever I'd been about to say disappeared at the mention of Mila. "Seriously? Are you kidding me?" I shoved the duffel right back. "Why don't you do it? She's your girlfriend."

He stared at me like I'd questioned his gender. "My– what?"

I spun – the one thing I _could_ do in heels – and stormed out, heading straight for my room. I slammed the door shut, turned on the light, and started dismantling my outfit. Off with the dress that worked too well, out with the hair clip that brought the wrong attention–

Derek banged on the door. "I'm not going to go through her drawers, Chloe."

_So you ask your ex to do it for you? _Was he really that stupid? I wrung the dress between my fingers before tossing it into my suitcase. "Guess she's out of luck, huh?"

He growled, a stream of curses wafting through the door, but he left. I heard shuffling in the room across the hall; he was getting his and Simon's things together.

I got dressed in a hurry, sweeping my hair into a ponytail, then shoved my few scattered possessions into my bag. I carried it into the hall, leaving it at the top of the stairs, and made a last trip to the bathroom to wash the makeup off my face. _At least you showered this morning_–

He pounced then, propping himself in that doorway with his arms, a safe distance away but still blocking my exit. "Just check the drawers so I don't end up in the wrong ones."

I started scrubbing the eyeshadow off just a little harder. "Funny, I don't remember you having this problem with _my_ laundry–"

"Chloe–"

I was going to hold my ground. But then he used that _tone_ with me… "Fine," I snapped. "I'll do it. Just let me finish."

He heaved a sigh of relief. "Faster." He left to cart the bags downstairs. I spent five extra spiteful minutes just splashing water on my face.

When I got tired of trying and failing to drown myself in the bathroom sink, I stepped into Mila's room and turned on the lights, finding the empty duffel on the bed. I grabbed it, muttering under my breath, hoping he was listening as I cussed the two of them out.

I went to the first dresser and wrenched open a few drawers until I found her underwear. I grabbed the stuff with the least amount of lace (it travels better, okay?) and shoved it in the bottom of the bag. In another drawer, I found some shorts and grabbed those, too, along with a pair of jeans and a few sets of socks. Next came her closet, where I grabbed any t-shirt that looked like it could stand a few wrinkles, balling them up and using the duffel as target practice.

Then I bent down to examine the rack of shoes along the floor, bypassing the heels and flip flops and boots and going straight for a bright white pair of sneakers, probably never been worn. I added them to the bag and dragged it (literally, right across the floor) back to the bathroom, grabbing whatever toiletries I knew she'd have to have.

I was contemplating giving her toilet a thorough farewell-scrubbing with her toothbrush when Derek walked in. "You finished?"

_Well, now I am_. I flung the toothbrush into the bag. "Where's her hairbrush?"

"What?"

I rolled my eyes. "Her hairbrush. You know, that thing people use to make their hair look presentable?"

"Can't she just borrow yours?"

I pinned him with a look. _Don't push it_.

He sighed, nudging me out of the way, pawing through the open drawers. He came up with an older hairbrush, crusted over with dried hairspray. Definitely not her favorite one, but I wasn't about to complain, and he wasn't about to waste time to look for a different one.

He moved to toss the brush into the bag, and his arm skimmed my shoulder. My breath caught in my throat, still there when he pulled away.

When I didn't move right away, he cleared his throat. "Done?"

I swallowed. "Done."

I followed him downstairs and into the kitchen, where the fridge was propped open by the cooler. We made the raid quick, dumping snacks into the cooler with half of Mila's stock of expensive bottled waters. When it was full, he hauled it out to the front porch, and I shut the door behind us.

I was ready to get as far away from Mila Country as possible, but Derek paused, blocking my way down the stairs. "What now?"

He huffed. "The keys are in my back pocket."

"So?"

He held the cooler a little higher. "My hands are full."

I sighed. "Of course they are."

"If I wanted you to cop a feel–"

"Shut up," I said. I slipped my hand into the denim, fumbled, then darted out with the key ring in hand, cheeks dangerously red. After some arguing over the right key, I locked the door, and he released me from the stoop. I paused long enough in my rush to get out of there to help him wiggle the cooler into the backseat.

Derek slid into the driver's seat once more, keys poised in his hand. "If this doesn't start," he muttered, jamming the keys into the ignition and twisting. The car roared to life, a healthy sound free of splutters. _Thank God_.

As discreetly as possible, I patted my Dodge. _Way to show him_. Then I watched the streetlights blur as he sped off into my last Chicago night.

* * *

"This is stupid," he muttered, but we kept walking. I pressed myself tighter against his side, tucked my hand into his back pocket, and sidestepped a hill of snow.

"You said you used to do this all the time," I sighed.

"I made a point not to do it after hours, Chloe," he scolded. But we kept walking.

We'd started out the spring semester of my sophomore and his junior year at Parkview High, our third school in eight months. We'd rented a duplex a few blocks away, the girls on one side and the boys on the other, but the four of us kids always met up in the morning to walk to school together.

That's where I was taking Derek tonight, but not because we needed to get to class.

"You said it helps to get some fresh air, and you're always complaining about being restless," I said. "Kit said you need to get out more–"

"Don't know if I like you talking about me behind my back."

I rolled my eyes. "It's not like you can't hear us. And you'd be the first person to interrupt if you didn't like what we were saying."

He pulled me a little closer, his laugh rumbling through his jacket. "True."

We turned the corner and crossed the parking lot of the school. It was already dark, but he led the way, finding footing and steering me around slush. The snow was melting, and the weather was warming, but the world was still wet and slippery. I stumbled more than a few times, my left sneaker taking a swim in a deep puddle, until finally he grabbed me around the waist and carried me the last few feet to the track. I struggled but his grip didn't budge, and I laughed at myself for trying.

"Shh," he said, setting me down by the fence, his arms still around me. "You want us to get caught?"

"No," I agreed, laughing a little quieter.

He planted a hasty kiss on my head. "Good Chloe."

I snorted, smacking his arm, only to tangle my fingers in the fabric to keep him in place. "Just good?"

His lips quirked, betraying his rolling eyes. "_Very_ good," he said, bending down to meet my lips with his.

After that, he was in less of a rush. He stepped back and found the padlock on the gate, examining it in the dark. "I could snap it," he said.

"They'd get suspicious," I said. That wouldn't help us if we wanted to make this a regular thing. He nodded.

"Can you climb?"

I hefted myself onto the fence – it wasn't much taller than I was – and climbed up and over, my feet hitting the ground a split second before his. We brushed ourselves off and faced the track, bleacher bookends on either side. With the few outbuildings on one side, and the patch of forest on the other, we were hidden from the street. Derek visibly relaxed, and his feet shifted, as if he wasn't sure he should start.

I stretched onto my tiptoes and kissed him on the cheek. "Go. I'll wait."

He didn't need to be told twice. He slipped off his jacket, tossed it onto the nearest bench, and hit the ground running.

* * *

Simon sent Derek a text message. Langworthy was heading west now, out of the city. We picked Simon and Mila up at a train station on the outskirts of town, and I moved to the backseat so Simon could navigate. That left me to sit beside Mila. The cooler divided the seat for us, but unfortunately it didn't hide her face.

Barely five seconds after we drove off, she rested her chin on the back of Derek's seat. I tried focusing on Simon's stream of Latin incantations, but her voice ruined the hypnotics of it.

"What are we going to do now?" she asked.

"Follow him," Derek said. _Obviously_.

"Did you grab my research? Maybe I can figure out where he's going next–"

"There was too much of it," he replied. Simon's spell sped up, slowed down, weaving with the car as Derek navigated through traffic.

"He's out of the city now," Simon said, and he started up again.

Mila huffed. "I can't believe he got away."

Derek didn't say anything.

"It was a stupid idea. We never should've sent Chloe. She didn't know him well enough–"

"He wanted you to do it," I reminded, plastering my forehead against the window. "It's not my fault you refused."

"I didn't–"

I mentally shook my head. "It's not my fault he took off either. Derek was the one who scared him away."

Mila scoffed. "Derek went over there _because_ you lost him," she snapped. We passed under a streetlight; her eyes were red. "All that time I spent, completely wasted–"

I ignored her. "Not that you care, but Langworthy was just about to launch a spell at me," I said. "But then some idiot showed up–"

"And said your name. It tipped Langworthy off," Derek said. "There wasn't any point after that–"

"Tell that to Red," I mumbled, still squirming at the thought of him.

Mila sniffed. "Red? Who's–"

"Nobody," Derek replied. I snorted.

"Only some guy who tried to drug me."

"What?"

"Ask Derek," I sighed.

It only took a few minutes of Mila's insisting for Derek to crack. Through tight lips, he explained what had happened, and I let myself ignore it. I was thankful, but I wouldn't let him know it.

Mila didn't say anything when he was finished – just pursed her lips. I knew she didn't like me, and the feeling was mutual, but there was no way I'd wish for a girl to be date-raped. Her expression was so obvious it was brighter than Vegas neon. She was flat-out disappointed that Red hadn't succeeded.

My mind made a quantum leap. _What's you name? No, let me guess. I'm a natural for names._

I swallowed. I was overreacting, being paranoid. It was just a pick-up line.

_No, I've got it. Chloe. You just scream Chloe_.

My name isn't uncommon, but it's not Britney or Ashley. You can't just pull it out of thin air. Either he really was good at names, or he'd picked it up from someone I knew.

My mind flashed back to the bar. Derek calling out, walking towards me, but no one behind him. Mila was gone. Gone where? And for how long?

I was just about to ask when Simon turned around and cleared his throat. "Are you okay?"

I blinked. "Huh?"

"The guy, the one who tried to drug you…" He licked his lips, face tight with worry. "Are you okay?"

_No, but not for the reason you think_. "I didn't really have time to think about it," I admitted, already yelling at myself for not seeing it sooner. "Langworthy–"

"Got away because of you," Derek finished for me, ending the conversation. He smacked Simon. "Keep the spell going," he instructed. But the tone made it sound more like, _Don't talk to Chloe; she's being punished._

Mila was peeking into the cooler, but I could still hear her as she poked around the snacks. "Did you get clothes for me?" She shut the cooler, fingering a long chain around her throat, and leaned against Derek's seat again. "I should've packed something sooner but I didn't think–"

"It's in the trunk," Derek said.

"Thanks," she said, smiling into the rearview mirror. I couldn't see his expression, but he still didn't reply. She took her hand away from the necklace and touched Derek's shoulder, rubbing small circles into his t-shirt with her thumb.

Derek took his eyes off the road to stare at her hand, and for a split second, his eyes rested on me.

Then he turned around and shrugged her off, and Mila was left to sit back and try to take a nap.

Mouth dry, I looked out the window as Illinois transformed into Iowa, wondering if she'd have an easier time finding sleep than I would.

* * *

Months passed and spring made its final appearances, drenching the town in rain before summer could simmer it away. The field around the school became one big soggy mud pit, and the bleachers were always drenched in dew. But I'd started a habit. Weather wouldn't stop Derek from wanting a run.

He finished his sixth lap when he slowed, the sound of his footfalls even like a drumbeat. I watched from my usual spot, an open notebook in my lap, and a script forming on the page. When he veered toward me, I tucked the notebook into my bag, and pulled my sweatshirt closet against the chill.

Now that it was warmer, he'd traded in his sweats for shorts and a t-shirt. A sheen of sweat glistened on his face and neck as he hiked up the steps, and when he sat down, I passed him a water bottle. "Feel better?"

He nodded, taking a long sip. "Tired for once," he said, stretching a kink out of his neck.

"Good. That should tide you over until the weekend, right?"

He snorted, passing me the bottle and insisting I take a drink. "You know it doesn't work like that."

"I know. It would just be easier to get through fifth period trigonometry if my tutor wasn't running around the woods as a dog."

He laughed, nudging me with his foot. I gave back the bottle, and he finished it, capping it off and setting it on the seat behind us. "You don't have to come, you know." He meant his almost-nightly track runs. It was an unspoken rule that I was there for his Changes.

"I know."

"It's probably boring."

"Sometimes."

"So why come?"

I reached out, my fingers finding his, and laced them together. "Guess I'm one of those stalker girlfriends. I can't _bear_ to be without you."

He raised a brow. "So I haven't scared you off yet?" Running always put him in a good mood, almost euphoric, and it showed in the way his lips quirked into a smirk.

I let my eyes roam over his face, starting with the smile practically reserved for me, and ending with his bright green eyes. "Not yet."

He used our clasped hands to pull me closer, his free hand finding its favorite home in the hem of my sweatshirt. Old moves, but they still set loose the butterflies in my stomach. He bent forward, and our lips met in a slow kiss, his smile overpowering.

He pulled back, and I wilted just a little. Then he reached in his bag and pulled out a flat box, the size and shape of a deck of cards.

He handed it to me, smile gone, studying my face for a reaction. "What's this?" I asked.

He didn't answer, still searching. "Open it."

When I did, I gasped. A thin, gold-plated chain. Almost identical to my old one.

"For your amulet," he said, practically whispering.

I reached behind my neck and untied the ribbon. I let the blue stone slide off it and onto my lap, and then threaded it onto the chain. Picking up the ends, I dangled it from my hand, entranced, until I looked beyond it to see Derek with that half-smirk again.

"Happy one year anniversary," he murmured.

I had just enough sense to put the necklace on before I pressed my lips against his.

* * *

Iowa was more boring than I'd imagined, flat, empty, and dark. Once on the highway, there weren't many ways to get off, and Simon reduced the amount of spells he cast. As bored as I was with the scenery, there's an upside to chasing someone down Tornado Alley – there's nowhere to go but west.

Simon's head bobbed, and Derek's voice broke the quiet. "Don't fall asleep."

"I'm tired."

"If you're sleeping you can't cast. If you can't cast, we can't track him–"

Simon groaned, sitting up. I could see him holding his eyelids open in the side view mirror. "Okay, I'm up." Derek didn't laugh.

"What time is it?" I asked.

Simon's gaze teetered toward the dashboard clock. "Almost two."

"How are we on gas?"

"I filled the tank this afternoon," Derek said. Simon's eyes met mine in the mirror, bloodshot even at this distance.

"But that was _before_ we made three trips in and out of Chicago–"

"It was also _before_ you screwed everything up–"

"Refresh my memory," I said, sitting forward, measuring my volume to keep from waking Mila. "Was that before or after you scared him off with your bouncer act?"

"You didn't have to come, you know–"

"It's my car–"

"It's your screw up–"

Simon interrupted with an unusually loud amount of Latin, eyes squinted shut and hands wheeling. When he was finished, he opened his eyes and said, "Okay, he's still ahead of us somewhere."

"Lucky us," I said, falling back against the seat. The resulting silence was punctuated nicely by a _ding-ding-ding_, and then a light flashing on the dash. The gas tank was low. _I told you so_.

"Pit stop," Simon announced, like a farmer greeting rain after an endless drought.

We got off the highway and found a gas station. It was open, but practically deserted aside from the one tattooed cashier. Derek paid for the gas while Simon bought everyone coffee, and I was left to wake up precious Mila, and make sure she went to the bathroom if she needed to.

When I tapped her shoulder through the window, her eyes snapped open, still blind with sleep, until she found her way out of dreamland and focused on me. "Where are–"

"Iowa," I said.

"Where's–"

"Simon says he's heading west."

"No, not–" She yawned, stretched, and waved me aside so she could get out of the car. "I mean, where's Derek?"

My heart clenched. I'll be honest – I envied her. I just wasn't sure if it was because Derek barely said a word to her, or because when he did, it was in a low voice he hadn't directed at me in over a year. "He's inside."

She nodded to herself. "Can you pop the trunk?"

_Yes, your Highness_. I reached into the driver's seat and pressed the button, the little trunk springing open and revealing our bags. She dug around for one she recognized, opened it up, and swore. I swallowed my smile.

"I know he means well," she said, "but he's a horrible packer." She rifled through her balled-up clothes, and finally pulled out the crusted hairbrush. "Ugh."

I snorted. And that addition wasn't even _mine_.

She repacked the duffel and slammed the trunk shut, diving back into the car until she came out with her purse. "Thank god," she murmured. After some searching, she pulled out a smaller brush and raked it through her hair. My face fell. Of _course,_ we have to leave town the day she brings her entire life in her bag.

When she was done, she pulled out a tiny blue bottle of perfume. A very familiar bottle of perfume.

"Where'd you get that?" I asked, stepping forward to examine it, only to walk into the cloud she was spraying around herself.

"Derek," she replied, still spritzing. "He didn't like my old perfume. Said it was too strong. I guess it would be for his nose." She spun in the haze of scent, letting it cover every pore of her. "Ugh, I must smell like a truck driver."

Maybe she did, but not now. Not with that perfume. I coughed, using it as an excuse to walk away, hiding the sudden onslaught of tears.

She didn't smell like a truck driver now, but that was only because she smelled exactly like me.

* * *

School was out for the summer, so the groundskeeper was off too. Derek decided it was time to bust the lock. I was ripping too many pairs of jeans on the fence, so he said it was more practical. But on nights like this, when he wasn't in a rush, he'd go right back to hoisting himself over the fence. It was cute, in that bad boy rule-breaker way.

I walked through the gate and made a beeline for the bleachers, expecting him to head for the track, but he followed me instead.

"Aren't you going to run?" I asked, finding my seat near the top.

"Later," he said, sitting down next to me. I fumbled around in my bag for my iPod, passed him an earbud so he could listen too, and then pulled out the notebook. My script was almost finished. I just needed a good ending, a perfect scare, and I could be the next Wes Craven.

But with Derek so close, his breathing warm against my ear, the only goosebumps rising were the ones on my neck. He brushed my hair aside, his thumb in the hollow behind my ear. My focus didn't just waver – it vaporized. All I could think about was him, waiting to see what he'd do next…

He leaned closer, and I held my breath.

"You smell off," he said.

I laughed, pulling away from his hand. _I'm putty in your hands and you decide to use that to tell me I smell weird?_ "Damn, I thought I was nearing my expiration date."

He shook his head, wincing to himself. "No, I mean you smell different. Not bad, just different." Then his nose was in the crook of my neck, inhaling. "You smell like Tori."

"When have you been sniffing Tori?" I accused, giving him a look and earning an eye roll.

"It's not hard, she uses that a gallon of that perfume–" He cut himself short. "Did you borrow her perfume?"

"Maybe," I said, blushing. I'd used the barest of sprays, and only because I was out of deodorant. _He_ didn't need to know that. "Just a little."

"It's too strong," he said, wrinkling his nose. "Too…"

"Musky?" I hedged, having thought the same thing after spraying it.

His mouth twitched. "Exactly. It's distracting."

"Okay, no more perfume."

"You can wear it if you want–"

"The only person I'd wear it for has an extremely sensitive nose," I pointed out. "Probably not a great idea."

He shrugged. "I'm just saying I like how you usually smell… It's a hard scent to top."

_And so he finds a way out of the doghouse_. I laughed. "I'll have to find something."

"Impossible."

"Very possible."

"Prove it."

My eyes lit up. "Is that a challenge?"

He smirked. "Only if it gives me an excuse to do this." He tucked his face into the crook of my neck again, inhaling, and even as my breathing hitched, I couldn't help rolling my eyes. It was all about the math.

But I didn't back down from a challenge. It took the rest of the summer, a chunk of my allowance squandered on weak perfume. No musk, not citrus, definitely not flowers, keep away from spices. But eventually, I found it. The tiny blue bottle had been on the shelf in a drugstore. Once I tested it, I knew it was worth way more than the price tag. I bought two.

I brought it to the track, the night before he started his senior year at high school. I waited until he was on the track before putting it on, a dab on each wrist and behind each ear, and waited. Two laps later, he was climbing up the stairs.

"Why are you so jittery?" he asked, still a few rows away. "I can hear your feet tapping across the field."

"Smell me," I blurted.

"What?"

"I found the right one," I said. "The perfume. You said it couldn't be done and I did it. Smell me."

Skeptical, he sat down beside me and sniffed. Then he sniffed again. Then he pulled me into his arms and buried his nose in my hair.

"Smells like–"

"Rain," I said, a smug smile on my face. "It smells like just after it rains."

It was perfect, and I was a genius. It was light, so far from overpowering you had to know it was there to smell it. It was fresh, airy, energizing. Everything I felt when he looked at me. "Mmm," he said, in a tone that suggested more than mere appreciation. He groaned in defeat as he set me back into my seat. "Fine, you win."

I smiled. "I told you so."

He rolled his eyes, miffed now that the game was over, but still happy. "Do I get a consolation prize?"

"I can think of something," I murmured, laughing as he leaned in for the kiss.

* * *

Nebraska was worse. Derek wouldn't trade spots with me anymore, filling himself to the brim with coffee to stay awake, confident that he could handle the car if it ever came time to chase Langworthy down. That forced me to look out the window and take in the beauty of the Cornhusker State. It looked a lot like Iowa, only side of being flat, empty, and dark; it was flat, empty, and bright. It was nearing six, and the sun was rising over hundreds of miles of cornfields, the only thing in sight.

"Let's play I Spy," Simon said. It had been too quiet, so he was back to carrying conversations by himself, in between bouts of relentless casting.

"With what?" Mila said, yawning. "There's nothing to spy."

"Sure there is," he said, looking around. "I spy something… yellow."

"Corn," Mila, Derek, and I answered in unison.

"Damn," Simon said. "Too easy. Okay, I spy something…" He twisted toward the backseat, looked around, and twisted back. "I spy something jingly."

Mila raised a brow, but I laughed. "Mila."

"Bingo," Simon said, ignoring Mila's questions. "Your turn, Chloe."

I sighed. What the hell. "I spy something…blonde."

"Me!" Simon said.

"'Stupid' would also qualify," Mila muttered, but Simon was on a roll.

"I spy something grouchy."

"Mila?" I guessed, just as she suggested, "Chloe?" We looked at each other, and it was like something out of the Lion King, starring each other down on Pride Rock. _Good thing Simba was the blonde_.

"Wrong," Simon said. "Try again."

There was only one other direction to look. "Derek," I slipped. He took a deep breath, fingers whitening as they gripped the steering wheel.

"Two points for Chloe," Simon said. "I spy something–"

Just then, a familiar song erupted in the car: Rick James's 'Super Freak'.

Simon bent forward, pulled something from near his feet, and the song got louder. He looked at the caller ID of my cell phone and said, "I spy something bitchy."

Crap. "I forgot, I dropped it last night," I said, reaching forward. He dropped the phone into my hand and I flipped it open, static screeching in my ear. "Hello? Tori?"

"Chloe? Where– the heh– you?"

"What? You're breaking up."

"No shi–" The line died.

"We're in the middle of nowhere," Mila said, staring down her nose while I hit redial, greeted with more static. "You actually think there's service?"

The words were out before I could stop them. "You actually _think_?"

"Excuse me?"

"Leave her alone," Derek sighed, too tired to yell.

"Since when do you put up with brats?" I said.

"I meant–"

"Are you calling me a brat?" Mila asked, stunned.

Derek swore, exasperated. My phone rang again, and I answered it. "What?"

The line still crackled, but I could at least make out what Tori was saying. "Where are you?"

"Hell," I sighed.

"Michigan?"

"No, Nebraska. More specifically, my car _in_ Nebraska."

Derek took his annoyance out on the accelerator. "Chloe, if you want to go home–"

"She should go home," Mila said, "she already screwed everything up once–"

"Who's that?" Tori asked.

"Mila."

"Mila Andrews? The whack job?"

Mila looked like she wanted to grab the phone out of my hand and chuck it out the window.

Instead, the car slowed, and Derek pulled over to the shoulder. He twisted back, and my shock loosened my grip, enough so he could snatch the phone right out of my fingers. "Tori?" he said, throwing the car in park. I could hear her reply through the phone.

"Ah, so it's true, Wolf Boy joined the party."

"Tori, I don't know how you got Simon involved in this, but whatever your point is, consider it made. Now do me a favor and convince Chloe to go home."

"I'm not her keeper, Derek–"

"You've obviously had an influence on her."

Tori laughed. "Yeah, she came along great, huh?"

Derek replied with a monologue of things he would do to her if she didn't get me out of his hair, _pronto_.

"Why should I? It's about time you find out what I've been putting up with since you took off–"

"What _you_–? You think it wasn't–" He swore, flicking the phone into my lap. When I picked it up, the line was dead again. Not like I wanted to have that conversation anyway.

"Derek?" Mila murmured. She reached for his shoulder, but he leaned out of her reach.

"Simon," he started.

"I'm on it," Simon replied said, following it up with the locator spell.

Mila took a deep breath. "Derek–"

"Save it," he growled.

Tori's text came in as we drove off.

_you come home now and i'll ship you right back._

* * *

We followed Langworthy through the rest of Nebraska, veering to the south, and nobody said anything. Simon took his casting doubly serious, Mila scoured over a map, and Derek drove. My job? Remain invisible.

_I shouldn't have come_. I should've stayed home, left Simon behind, or said no when Derek refused. I should've left with Simon when I had the chance. The only person who wanted me here was Tori. Possibly Simon, but now he was ignoring me too. I was just making this worse on myself by sticking around.

At our third stop for gas, I pretended to sleep. Mila and Derek left me in the car with a dozing Simon. My window was down, and I could hear their conversation easily.

"He's heading for Denver," Mila said. She'd spread the map out over the trunk, tracing our new trajectory and tapping her finger over the dots in Colorado. Derek peered over her shoulder as he pumped the gas.

"Makes sense. He could blend in again," he said stiffly.

The map crinkled in a breeze. After a minute, Mila sighed. "I'm sorry," she said.

"What for?"

"About not taking care of Langworthy myself."

He grunted, jiggling the gas pump.

"It's just… You know I can't really do anything–"

"Get over it," he said.

"What?"

I held my breath, waiting. "The modifications," he said. "You were a success. Get over it."

Her anger spread out like an incoming tide. "They _took_ my powers, Derek–"

"Does that have anything to do with Langworthy?"

"It has everything to do with him–"

"No, it doesn't. He worked with me, and the other werewolves. He didn't go anywhere near you. If anyone has a reason to lose their head over this, it's me."

She folded the map, and I had to strain over the noise to hear her response. "I think you lost more than your head."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"As if you don't know," she said, lowering her voice to a whisper that wasn't quiet restrained. "Why else would you bring _her_? You said she was supposed to be in LA, but you keep extending her detour–"

"_I_ did?"

"Yeah, because she wanted to, and you can't tell her no. This was _our_ case, Derek. _We_ did all the work, and you're letting her distract you–"

"And you aren't?"

"At least I'm not _staring_ at her–"

I jumped at the sound of straining metal, twisting to look at the gas pump. He'd slammed the nozzle into its cradle and walked away.

Mila folded up the map and hid it in her purse, disappearing into the gas station for what I could only guess was chocolate therapy.

I followed Derek with my eyes. We were at a truck stop, so he had a huge parking lot to walk through, edging close to a bank of trees. Simon sat up, not a trace of sleep on his face, and watched his brother. "You should go talk to him," he muttered.

"Why? So he can break something else?" I eyed the pump, the rack bent at an unnatural angle. "I'm the reason he's breaking things to begin with. You want him to really snap?"

He looked back at me. "Are you deaf? Blind? Mentally handicapped?"

"No."

"Then replay what she just said in your head, and go talk to him." He swore, flinging himself back into the seat. "Wake me up when you get back."

I swung the door open and got out of the car, banging the door shut. I leaned to look at Simon through his open window. He chewed his lip, but his eyes blazed as bright as mine.

"You started this," I said. "You can fix it."

He rolled his eyes. "How?"

I took a deep breath. "When we get to Denver, I want to be on the first plane to LA."

Indecision pricked at the corners of his mouth and eyes, and he looked more like Kit than ever. "On one condition."

"Which is?"

He pointed across the lot, where Derek was just edging into the trees. "Talk to him."

* * *

**A/N 1**: The flashbacks are pretty simple – any scene with a happy Chloe or Derek is in the past. Editorially, I think it's important to have Chloe reminded of the good times, even while she's dealing with the bad. Also, it gave me an opportunity to write fluff!

**A/N 2**: The perfume bit exists thanks to Marguerite. I batted around the idea of turning it into a oneshot, but it fits here. On a side note, I was thinking about writing some Halloween-themed oneshots! If you have any ideas about what you'd like to see, let me know.

**A/N 3 (aka last-one-I-swear)**: National Novel Writing Month starts November 1st! 30 days, 50,000 words. Anybody else gonna try it this year? You can find info on my profile. Hope to see you there!


	8. Brick By Boring Brick

_**Disclaimer**__: …Dear Santa, I've been a good little fanfic author this year, and I only want one thing for Christmas – Derek Souza. I don't think he'd fit under the tree, so feel free to put him in my bed. Preferably shirtless. (Nothing you recognize is mine – but I'm working on it.)_

**A/N**: First of all, thank you all _so_ much for being so patient. I know this chapter is insanely late, and I apologize. But trust me, it needed to be. Without giving anything away, I can say that this chapter is a HUGE turning point in the plot, and I wanted to make sure it was absolutely perfect before I posted it. Is it perfect now? No. But it's as close as it's gonna get, and I'm confident enough to post it. Instead of my usual list of replies, I'll just address the one thing everyone had on their minds: _will they just get back together already?_ Good question, and the answer is YES, they will. _**Just not this chapter**_. There's still a few things our couple needs to do before they can ride off into the sunset in Chloe's Dodge. And unfortunately, one of them is this: hit rock bottom.

Shout outs go to _McCbri-Cider_, _Lauren94_, _moon-called-princess_, _suzi1811_, _MelKitty_, _jaimee_, _aStormatMidnight_, _Skittles001_, _BlueDevilChick304_, _4 the killer_, _Lyna_, _Toochie94_, _Mrs. Souza_, _Suria17_, _Ealeyxox_, _MortalInstrumentsObsessed_, _everyoneisMISunderstood_, _Charli The Crazy Unicorn_, _Bookninja15_, and of course, _RitaRey_ (AKA Marguerite!).

Again, if you're still reading, **thanks so much **for sticking it out. I sincerely hope you all find it worth the wait!

* * *

**.: **_**eight**_**:.  
**_But it was a trick  
__And the clock struck twelve  
__Well make sure to build your home  
__Brick by boring brick  
__Or the wolf's gonna blow it down_

I didn't have to go into the woods and hunt Derek down. I could've argued, told Simon he was nuts, and wore him down until he agreed to get me my plane ticket. But the fact that he agreed was almost a confession. I was right – Simon _was_ the mastermind. I wanted to rub it in before I left, and it was now or never.

It's almost impossible to sneak up on a werewolf, so a grand entrance was out of the question. Instead, I walked across the parking lot and into the woods, not bothering to tiptoe around or dodge branches, giving him every excuse to find me first. I thrashed my way through the underbrush like an uncoordinated bear, calling for him at the top of my lungs. I don't know why I expected a reply.

"Derek!" I hollered, sweat dripping down my neck. "We need to talk. Simon offered to fly me to LA once we get to Denver. I need to know what's going to happen to my car." I climbed over a log, following a path I wasn't sure existed outside of my mind. I stepped blindly forward as I brushed bark from my clothes. "I don't have all day, and the sooner we figure this out, the sooner I'll be out of your–oof!"

I stumbled over a tree root, falling through a bush and into a small clearing. Groaning, I blew the hair out of my eyes and looked around. If I wasn't at ground level, I probably wouldn't have seen it: in the middle of the clearing was a pile of clothes.

"You're kidding me," I muttered, extracting myself from the shrub and spitting out dirt. When I walked over to the clothes, I sighed. A dark gray t-shirt, jeans, running shoes, and a pair of boxers – all Derek's. Apparently, he'd been angry and stressed enough to trigger a Change, and now he was blowing off steam as a wolf.

"Great," I mumbled. Just when I _want_ to talk to him, he has to go quadruped.

After a hasty debate in my head, I sat down in the grass beside his things and waited. What else could I do? Yeah, I could've gone back to the car, but right now Simon was the last person I wanted to talk to, and Mila wasn't even close to an alternative. At this point, as much as I hated to admit it, it was probably better to be by myself. I needed to think.

I leaned back, resting on my palms on the cool earth, but my fingers hit something soft. I looked down – the tips of my fingers had landed on his shirt. I pulled away as if it was cotton cancer, scraping my palm against my shorts. I was already upset enough for the both of us; I didn't need his contagious anger.

_You're blaming the wrong person._

As much as I wanted to deny it, I knew that was the truth.

A huge part of this was my own fault. It was time I dealt with that. Someone needed to bow out, and that someone had to be me. I was the only one who didn't have to be here. I was the only one causing more trouble than I was worth, whether I meant it or not.

The truth was, it wasn't just my trip that Simon twisted to suit his needs. He'd messed up Derek's plans, too. I could be mad at Derek for a lot of things – too many to count – but not this. I needed to make peace. Especially if I wanted to get over him.

I'd been so stupid. I'd wasted a year, thinking I was done, when really I was hurt and alone, missing someone who wasn't worth missing. I _had_ to get over him – he'd already moved on. No matter how badly I wanted things to go back to the way they were, he had a new life now. Mila was proof of that. Things had changed – _he'd_ changed, in some hazy way I could only see when I wasn't pining over what I'd lost.

_You can let him go now_, I realized, thinking of Hollywood and bought scripts and living. My life could be my own again. Maybe that had been Simon's point the whole time – to give us some kind of closure. The longer I sat, the better I felt. This was the right thing to do. I hadn't felt this peaceful in months.

Hopefully Derek would reappear with the same clear-headedness. Maybe, by some miracle, we could even be friends again.

_Some friend you are_.

That admission stung, overwhelming me with guilt. I'd missed all the signs. He'd been at it long enough now that he could handle the Changes on his own, but an oncoming one still always showed. The fever-bright eyes, the muscle spasms, the cold sweats – those didn't just randomly come on. Which meant he'd been driving through it. My stomach clenched at the idea.

I should've offered to drive, or insisted he stopped for a break. I would have, but I was too caught up in myself to catch the clues in the first place.

I shook it off. There was nothing I could do now except wait, and hope he felt better afterward. I glanced at his clothes, sighed, and picked up the shirt. It was caked in dirt, as if he'd flung it off in a hurry. I brushed it off, folded it and placed it in my lap. Then I went to fold his jeans.

As I shook them out, his cell phone tumbled out of his pocket. It hit the ground, just a few inches out of reach when the screen lit up: YOU HAVE (5) UNREAD MESSAGES.

I picked it up, wondering if it was Mila or Simon trying to reach him, when it vibrated in my hand: NEW MESSAGE FROM DAD.

I winced. Kit was probably worried. I hadn't seen Derek talk to him since we left Chicago. I flipped open the phone–

_What the hell are you doing?_

I froze. Before, whenever Derek was traipsing around on all fours, he'd let me respond to his text messages. _Before._ I had no right now. I snapped the phone shut.

For a second, I just held it, knowing I'd made a step backwards in my progress. If I wanted to be friends, I could not slip up like this. Then it vibrated again, and the number of messages jumped from six to seven. Unless Derek had become popular since we'd been apart, it was a fair guess to say they were all from Kit.

I teetered, caught between two options, neither of which were very appealing. On one hand, I could ignore them, and just wait for Derek to come back. But who knew how long that would take? On the other hand, I could check, and give Kit some peace of mind.

Thinking of Kit, I made my decision. Derek would probably be pissed, but I'd want someone to get in touch with my dad if I couldn't. I opened the phone again, took a deep breath, and scrolled down to the first unread message. Just as I thought, they were all from Kit.

_Where are you?_

That was an easy answer, but I checked the next message anyway.

_Tori called. Said you're in Nebraska? What about Chicago?_

I flicked to the next one.

_Just called Mila's, no answer. Is she with you?_

Then the next:

_You aren't doing what I think you're doing, are you?_

My heart slowed. And then:

_I told you to leave Langworthy alone._

I stopped. I stopped breathing, stopped beating, stopped thinking. My finger shook as I flicked through the last two messages.

_He's not worth it. Whatever he can tell you won't change anything._

_We need to talk about this. Call me ASAP._

At last, my brain stopped processing. I dropped the phone, rose to my feet, and took a hesitant step back, as if facing a bomb.

Kit told him to leave Langworthy alone?

Hadn't Kit been the one to send Derek after him in the first place?

_But if Kit wasn't in on it_… Derek lied. He'd been doing this for himself the whole time.

I'd been wrong. He hadn't changed at all.

I should've known.

Behind me, a branch snapped; I spun. To my left was an enormous black wolf. Poised on the tips of his clawed toes, defensive and pissed, a snarl erupted from the barrel of his chest, one white fang revealed by the upward curve of his jowls.

I swallowed; his growl subsided.

Everything I'd thought of earlier – making peace, moving on, following his example – it all evaporated in the view of his bright green eyes.

"Kit never asked you to track down Langworthy," I said, letting my voice carry all the implications. Not only had he lied to me, but to Simon, and his dad. Everyone who used to matter – he'd ignored them all. What was worse, it was a repeat offense.

His claws dug little trenches in the dirt, but he didn't move. He made one sniffing noise, eyes darting to the cell phone, and back to me. He was smart. He could fit the pieces together. But I answered the unspoken question anyway. "Kit texted you. I…" I licked my lips, letting the sentence dangle. He knew what I did. But this wasn't about me. I dove in.

"Kit never wanted Langworthy – _you_ did."

When he still didn't move, I went on. "Y-you lied, to everyone. Does Mila know? Or is she your accomplice now?" Hidden in the anger was a flare of jealousy that I couldn't reign in. "She's my replacement, isn't she? When I didn't want to help anymore, you find someone who did."

A snuff, which could mean anything. The lack of a solid answer ignited the old anger – the anger that had started this all in the first place.

When he looked at me with that same expression – lifeless, uninterested, the slightest hint of irritation – I knew.

"You're still working on your experiments," I whispered.

It was that last night all over again.

* * *

"Don't move," he murmured absently, thumb on the syringe. My arm tingled under the tourniquet, but I stayed still. A prick and a sensation like a draining bathtub later, he had the blood sample he needed. He capped off the vial, labeling it like he always did, with my name, and then the date.

We were in the kitchen, his research spread out over the counters, a machine whirring out an analysis of his own blood, his laptop interpreting the data. He'd been out of school for year, and without access to their labs, he'd made one up in the kitchen, embracing the generic white of the walls and cabinets as his own personal workshop.

Derek left me sitting on the counter, adding my blood to the machine. I still didn't know what it did, and I'd been 'helping' for four years. In a way it was like high school, only instead of me sneaking him into the track, he'd taken to sneaking me into college labs.

But now, suddenly, he didn't want to risk that. He was on to something, and supernatural blood in a human lab wasn't something he could justify anymore. He brought the obsession home, working on it day and night. I watched him huddle over the computer, eyes roaming over equations in a software he'd adapted from old Edison Group files. I'd gotten those for him too, through Tori. I never got a thank you.

"What's it for?" I asked, yanking my sleeve over the spot of blood bubbling from the crook of my arm. The veins were battered, the skin bruised, and I couldn't look at it anymore.

"Theory," he grunted. His usual answer.

Once, after he'd first declared his major, he'd told me what he wanted to do – he wanted to fix us. He said he was tired of watching me struggle to maintain my powers – he said this was for _me_. I knew it was for him too. The Changes wore him out, more than other wolves, and he wanted to know why. Derek wanted answers, and the best way to get them was by finding them himself.

It had always been a long shot, he said. Maybe he could find something to fix us – and in turn, the other members of Project Genesis – but maybe he wouldn't. If he was going to try, he needed my help. He wanted to do this in secret, at least until he had something to show for the effort. But you can't run tests without a test subject.

Stupidly, I volunteered.

At first, I loved spending time with him, watching him work, sharing his discoveries. For the price of a quick blood draw, I could enter his world, and understand him in a way I never had before. He was a fact seeker, my very own crusader of justice. I saw all the movie analogies in my head and never questioned him. _You want more blood? Sure, Derek – take it all._

He always asked, at first.

But then he stopped.

The project consumed him, and my life with it. Then the fights started. If I wasn't there when he needed me, he'd explode, and if I ate the wrong thing, he'd practically spoon-feed me the next day's meals. As his test subject, I had to remain in his bubble. It was like being in the Edison Group's lab, only this time I was in on the secret. And it wasn't a secret I could keep anymore.

I had doubts. After so many years, he should've found something by now. He told me to be patient, that science takes time – but it kept taking time I didn't have. How many times since I'd met him had I almost died? I realized I was watching him try to fix the very life I was wasting. I could manage; his research was pointless. I just wanted my Derek back.

"I'm going out," I said after awhile, slipping off the counter. He grunted in response, held up a finger, and I waited.

After scribbling something in a notebook, he looked up, scientific concern very different from the old emotions I used to know so well. "Where are you going?"

I shrugged. I didn't know where. I just knew I couldn't hang around. Whenever I did, the insults started to fly, and I couldn't take it anymore. No more fighting, no more resentment.

"You're staying here," he said, shaking his head and turning back to his work. "It's late. I don't want you out."

"Are you my father?" I asked, knowing it was childish. It was all so unfair, and I hated myself for allowing the role change. We used to be a _team_, and now he just wanted to order me around. I wasn't a person to him anymore, I was an object to manipulate.

"Not according to the DNA results," he deadpanned, plugging variables into the laptop. "You shouldn't be out. How's the injection site?"

That's right; I wasn't just a blood bank. He'd developed a medicine to help weaken the intensity of our powers – just like Tylenol helps soften the blow of your headaches. He set me on a strict regimen for the trial run. Twice a day, I was supposed to stick a needle in my arm and inject a foreign substance into my bloodstream. I asked if he was taking it, too, but he wouldn't say. He wanted this trial to be as close to a real study as possible, and that meant, as his patient, I wasn't allowed to know about the other subjects.

"It's fine," I said, voice shaking. But he was too absorbed to notice I was lying. The truth was, I never took the meds. The Derek I'd fallen in love with would never have asked me to do that, and I wasn't about to take drugs from a stranger. And I'd kept up the charade for two weeks.

He went over my blood test results again, frowning. "Come here. I'm going to give you a second dose. I'm not seeing any result–"

"Isn't that a good thing?" I asked sarcastically. He shook his head.

"No, it's not. Come here."

I watched him pick up a fresh syringe, going through the motions with practiced ease, and found myself backing up against the fridge. Magnetic letters pressed into my back, and I could feel my face screw up in fear, but he didn't notice. He hadn't noticed for a while.

Suddenly, looking at him, all I saw was Dr. Davidoff, and every other person we'd been running away from in the first place. We'd made it out alive, but not unscathed.

He picked up the tourniquet and brought it over, not questioning the fact that I had melded to the fridge in terror. I couldn't move, couldn't think. My lungs expanded but didn't fill; my heart beat but didn't pump. I was frozen in time, wondering what we'd become, how I'd let it happen, and why he thought he needed to do this at all.

I didn't need a magical, medical cure. I needed Derek. Why couldn't he see that?

When he touched my arm, I scrambled like a startled deer, away from the fridge and into the doorway. After taking a wild breath, I looked into his eyes, seeing only mild confusion.

"What was that for?"

I opened my mouth, but no answer came out. _I don't know you anymore. I don't trust you._

He came forward again, and I jumped back. "Don't come near me with that."

He rolled his eyes. "It's fine, Chloe. Since when are you afraid of needles?"

"That's not what I'm talking about."

"If it's an overdose you're worried about, stop. I wouldn't give this to you if I didn't think it was safe–"

"How do you know?" I asked, backing into the living room and hitting the back of the couch. My legs shook, all the blood rushing to my frantic heart. "How do _I_ know?"

"I know because I made it," he said, flicking the syringe free of air bubbles. "How do you know what?"

He didn't even sound like himself anymore. The old Derek would _never_ ask that – he would've known.

My life had mimicked a lot of horror films over the years, but I couldn't remember seeing one like this. Derek kept walking calmly toward me, and I kept backing up, weaving our way around the living room furniture. He didn't see anything wrong with that. He just kept following me, eyes lifeless, uninterested, and vaguely irritated…

I stumbled backwards on the couch, stuck, and he sighed. "C'mon, Chloe–"

"I haven't been taking it," I blurted, ears ringing. He stopped.

"What?"

"The meds, I haven't been taking them. That's why there's no change. I-I'm scared. Don't you see that? I don't need this. Stop, please. We'll forget it ever happened–"

"What are you talking about?"

"You're scaring me," I said, leveling him with my gaze, somehow managing to scurry back again. I remembered corpses tracking my every move in the crawl space of Lyle House, knowing their souls had been stuffed back into rotting skin, wanting to fix the damage I'd caused. Derek was the latest zombie, possessed by his obsession, but this wasn't something I could banish away.

"What are you scared of?"

"_You_," I said. "Look at yourself. You're as bad as Davidoff, even worse. Derek," I pleaded, eyes watering, "You know better, please, don't do this. It needs to stop; I can't watch you do this anymore–"

He sighed. "You're tired," he said, the hand with the syringe falling to his side. I almost relaxed. "Do you feel lightheaded? Maybe the blood draw–"

I kicked my knit Emerson blanket to the ground, that life a million miles away, and started looking for exits.

"Chloe," he said, frowning. He started at me, and I saw what was missing flicker in his eyes, pulling me in, daring me to trust him. But I couldn't do that anymore. He turned into the very thing he never wanted to be – a monster.

"I promise, it's not going to hurt–"

Almost that exact phrase met my ears the last time someone plunged an unwanted needle into my arm. "Liz," I called, but she didn't come. Saying her name wasn't enough. I needed to focus, but there was no time.

I grabbed a pillow and hurled it at him – he ducked, swore, twisting to watch it crash into the lamp behind him. It teetered, and he reached out to catch it. "What the hell was that for–?"

I leapt over the couch, running through the first door I came to, into our bedroom. I slammed it behind me, locking it shut. I hurtled into the bed and pressing myself against the headboard. _What are you doing? Why aren't you leaving? Run! Summon Liz, grab your keys, she can help you get past him, to the car–_

It had always been easy to make that decision when it came to the Edison Group.

But how do you run away from someone you love?

He banged on the door, begging me to come out, but I didn't move. I pulled the blankets around me, pressed pillows around my ears, and waited for the noise to die down.

When it didn't stop, I called out the only thing I could think of. "You're a monster, Derek. Go away. I'm done."

The pounding on the door stopped, but my heart kept going, insisting I was making a mistake, turning my back on someone I cared too much about to lose.

_The person you cared about is gone. The person you cared about doesn't exist anymore._

I tried to breathe, repeating the mantra in my head, knowing eventually he'd break the lock and come in. With some effort, I summoned Liz, too cowardly to wait him out alone.

* * *

The memory was sharp as glass, cutting through the present and piercing me in the heart. Thinking about that night, I didn't recognize myself. I was never as spineless as I was then. _You just keep letting him get the best of you._

He stared me down, but things were different now. I knew better. I wasn't afraid of him anymore. He was just another enemy, a bad guy I needed to escape, a past I was finished living in.

"Langworthy," I said. "I heard you telling Mila he was involved in the werewolf experiments. Which part?"

He was a black statue, barely breathing as he watched me, unable to answer. I decided to follow my guesses.

"So he was from before, the scientific half. Right? He helped Davidoff with the modifications – you want his old research." I licked my lips, thoughts flying. "You're working backward then. Instead of guessing what they did to us, you're hunting down the source."

He made a rumbling sound, and after a moment, he raised his head up and down. A nod. My breath came out in a shaky whoosh, half scoff and half laugh.

"I can't _believe_ you. I thought–" I thought he would stop; I thought my fear would shock some sense into him. I thought a million things, but apparently, I always thought wrong.

"I read your text messages," I said. "From Kit. He said he told you to leave Langworthy alone. That he's not worth it. But you never really cared what the stakes were, did you? It was all about the end result, solving the riddle of the genetically modified freaks, obsessing over it, trying to fix something that wasn't broken–"

He barked, a sharp noise that startled all the birds perched above us, setting three into the sky.

"I'm wrong? So why did you get Mila involved? She was just as obsessed with undoing what they did as you were. I can see it perfectly. You call her up, she comes to visit, or you go to hers, and you spout your science and your good intentions, just like you did with me. Eventually she's so convinced Langworthy has answers that she's stalking him for you. You got the first lead from your dad and handed it over to her, and she takes off running. What did you do in the meantime? Hide in your new apartment, run tests on yourself? On her, when she was in town?"

Another stream of barks exploded out of his jaws, his fur standing on end. He moved one paw, crossing it over the other, and padded around the edge of the clearing. I would've backed up, but he was keeping his distance, and if I needed help this time, I wouldn't hesitate to summon Liz.

"What, am I supposed to believe you didn't experiment on her, too? She'd be ten times as easy to convince as I was – and she barely even knew you. The whole time, I forced myself to believe it when you said it was for my own good, that it would all help me in the end, and I would get my powers under control. I was managing them already, in my own way, and my own time. It's called adapting, Derek, how could you forget?"

He kept barking, protesting, but for once I had no desire to understand him. It was pointless. I wanted closure? Now was the best time to get it.

"But we all know _Mila_ never adapted. She always wanted her powers back. You played on that, right?" I scoffed. "Is she expecting you to save her? Protect her? Is that what she sees in you? Because all I see is a sad, confused excuse of a boy who never learned the world isn't his to control. You aren't fixing anything, you're just making it worse."

"Didn't you see that?" I asked, rubbed raw from the inside out. If I was saying everything else, why not this too? "We _hated_ each other, Derek. You and I. You used to be my best friend, but I couldn't even talk to you. We resented each other for everything – didn't you ever wonder what was making me so upset? It was like I didn't exist outside of your test tubes and chemical equations. It was like _you_ didn't exist. You weren't even a person anymore."

He barked louder, as if I'd magically learned to speak canine, and that just made it worse. I'd been holding it in for so long I'd almost forgotten about it, and I was shocked to realize how much I'd let myself deny. The empty conversations, the nightmares, the blank stares. The obsession that grew and grew, until it was his only definition, and my Derek had completely disappeared.

I didn't want to relive that last night, but I had to. It was time I faced the fear. "I told you no, Derek. I didn't want the injections. But you kept coming at me. You'd forgotten I had a choice in this. Thanks for leaving the mess," I added, "it was nice seeing what exactly convinced you to leave. Because you knew I meant it that time, didn't you? I wasn't just done, I was _done_, with you and us and seven years. The check you left? I'm sure you know I never cashed it. It went in the trash."

My face felt wet, and I reached up to find hot tears rolling down my cheeks. "I thought… I thought losing what we had would change things, but it didn't. You just let someone else take my place." I wasn't shouting anymore. I was barely whispering. He stopped barking to hear me, waiting, taking two soft steps forward.

My next question was unimportant, but it was the one I wished he could answer. I sniffed. "Did she like the perfume, Derek?"

He whined, a sick sound that flared into another growl. Barking and yelling I could handle, but anything close to remorse was not what I needed to hear.

"It's okay," I said, rolling my eyes. "We're just people; we move on. You found a new girl, and I found out the truth: the only one who didn't get over what they did to us was _you_."

A fit of snarls rose up from his lips, and he jetted across the clearing to stand in front of me, teeth flashing and voice booming, as if he'd swallowed a thunderstorm.

"You want to know what's funny? I _wanted_ to help you catch him. I wanted to fix things. I wanted us back. For some reason, I actually missed you."

He froze, and I took the opportunity to dodge around him. He bounded back, blocking my path, but I'd already scrambled to his jeans and fished my keys out of his pocket.

"Don't worry," I said, stealing a glance as I stood up. His face was inches from mine, defiant. I hoped he saw the same in my eyes. "I won't tell Mila. She'll have to figure it out on her own."

I kicked his clothes, a spray of dirt going into his muzzle, and ran for the parking lot.

* * *

When I got back to the car, Simon had dozed off, and Mila was still missing. _Good._ There was no one around to change my mind.

I fumbled to the trunk, blinded by angry tears, and popped it open. With shaking hands, I took out my suitcases and Simon's duffel, finding Derek's bag at the bottom, and hefted it out. By the weight of it, I knew there had to be a few science texts in there, probably files on his work, notes he wanted to compare with Langworthy–

"What the hell are you doing?" Mila said, appearing beside me with a tall gas station mug of coffee. I rolled Derek's bag over the rim of the trunk and propped it against the pump.

"What does it look like I'm doing?" I said, grabbing Mila's bag and chucking it beside his. She stood, perplexed, rings flashing as her grip tightened and loosened around the mug.

"Going insane?"

I laughed, threw my things and Simon's back into the trunk, and slammed the lid shut. "Actually, I'm thinking this is the sanest thing I'll do all weekend."

"Are you–?" She trailed me around the car, where I dug out the cooler and started unloading her pricey water bottles one by one. I'd rather go thirsty than owe her a case of Evian. "You're leaving us here."

"Point for Andrews."

She borrowed my stutter. "You–you can't just _do_ that. What are we supposed to do, _walk_ to Denver? Where are you going?"

I started to back out of the car, a dozen bottles in my arms, and looked up. Simon was awake, staring at me, my red eyes, and my tear-stained cheeks. He mouthed the words, "What happened?" But I shook my head and got out, kicking the door shut.

"I don't care how you get to Denver," I told her, dropping the waters into a pile on Derek's duffel, two glittering like giant crystals as they rolled onto the pavement and under the car. "Walk, run, ride him side saddle, I don't care. I'm not helping anymore. Have fun catching the mad scientist. I'm taking my car and finishing what I started."

As I straightened, she grabbed my arm, fingers digging almost as deep as Derek's nails bit into the ground. I wrenched out of her grasp, disgusted, ignoring her suddenly desperate eyes and pleas, the way her eyes showed every emotion Derek's had lacked.

"Chloe, this isn't just about catching him… Derek and I… we need to talk to him, to understand… We need to know exactly what they did to us, and we'll never find out if we don't ask–"

_She knew_. I wanted to banish her into oblivion. "Why? So you can get your powers back?" She shushed me, but I had already lowered my voice to a dangerous level. "I don't know what Derek told you, but he envies you. You don't have to put up with out of control summoning or rearranging skeletons, your own kind scared to talk to you, wondering what else the experiment might've screwed up. You got away with a perfectly normal life. If it was up to Derek, we all would've ended up like you, not the other way around."

She blanched. "That's not true–"

"Fine, believe what he told you. I did, too. Just don't waste your time chasing something he's never going to give you. Derek knows best, if you haven't noticed."

I went to the driver's side door, sliding behind the wheel and turning to Simon. "Your dad never asked him to find anybody. He's after Langworthy for his own experiments."

"What?"

I started the car and put it in drive. "You can either stay behind, or you can come with me. It's up to you."

He floundered, torn between his brother and me, never having chosen a side, never knowing what exactly Derek had done to cause us to break up. I would explain it to him, but not now. Right now, I needed to leave.

"You owe me," I said, pointing at Mila, who was frantically dialing numbers on her cell phone, most likely Derek's. I decided against telling her he lacked the thumbs to answer.

Simon looked at her, but it didn't erase his guilt. "Is he okay?" he asked.

The worry in his eyes convinced me. "He'll be fine," I said. It was one thing I was sure of. "But I won't be if we stick around."

He weighed his options one last time. After a minute, his gaze softened, and he sat back in his seat. "Drive."

We left Mila at the pump, dodging trucks as we left the lot, and passing the forest on our way onto the highway. As I hit a stop sign at the lot's exit, I checked my rearview mirror – just in time to see Derek, on two legs, storm out of the forest.

He watched me leave, and I finally felt like myself again.

* * *

**A/N 1**: I wish I could've given you guys some happy fluff, but I've had this planned from the beginning. This was _always_ the reason why Derek and Chloe broke up. It is definitely out of character for Derek to do something like this, but remember, it didn't happen gradually. I agonized over the pace of this part of the story, what Chloe needed to say and what needed to be left out. In the end, another flashback was in order, two other scenes were cut, and I decided to let the revelation stand almost entirely on its own. I hope I did it justice.

**A/N 2**: Since I cut out two scenes from this chapter, you can assume that a good portion of chapter nine is already written. I'll try to get it up this weekend, at the very latest Monday. And then I'll get back to my Friday posting schedule. And yes, I'll still be updating during NaNoWriMo. :)


	9. Author's Note aka OMG AN UPDATE?

**Dear SUPER, AWESOME, _MEGAFOXYHOT_, _AMAZING_ Readers**,

I have so much explaining to do!

First of all, thank you so much for continuing to read and review this story. I can't tell you how amazed I am when I'm still getting email updates six months later. (Of course, every time I get them I end up feeling extremely guilty for not updating in so long!) You guys rock _so_ hard, and I am eternally grateful. :D

As for _why_ I've been gone so long - that's a slightly complicated answer! The short version is this:

I got a new boyfriend (and a whole ton of drama with him), my family started looking for a new house, got a new dog, went to Orlando a few times (mainly for a concert with All Time Low, Yellowcard, Hey Monday, and The Summer Set!), spent a lot of time trying to figure out where my brain was at in a few friendships, tried to get used to this whole dating thing, found a house, found out my boyfriend's parents really did hate me, worried endlessly about the contract process for the house, watched my boyfriend's relationship with his parents rapidly disintegrate, half-heartedly packed, spent several weeks trying to get financial aid in order for my first college class.

**THEN** my boyfriend actually got kicked out and moved in with me, I started class, had a lot of homework, finally moved to the new house, and, miraculously, I am still alive. Damn, what a mouthful. (Do you believe that's actually the short version? Yikes.)

If you're still with me, here's some good news: I also just got engaged. Yeah, really. :)

So I've been busy, and neglecting basically all of my stories. All this stress and newness has given me a terrible writer's block, but it's no excuse. I know I've left this hanging horribly. Please except my endless apologies and this plate of cyber cookies in exchange for being so nice. These reviews and favorites still really brighten my day, and you have no idea how much I've appreciated it. The short version: I LOVE YOU GUYS. :')

**Good news is, things are settling down now, and I feel an itch to write. While I'd love to focus on an original story of mine, I'm seriously thinking of coming back to this one and finishing it proper - or maybe rewriting it entirely!**

If you're STILL still with me, and have forgiven me for my writerly sins, maybe you guys could vote in the poll on my profile? The options are simple: would you rather see Ghosts rewritten and given a fresher treatment, or would you rather I continue it from where it is so you can see where the cliffy leads? There are pros and cons to each one, but I would love for the readers to decide, since you've all been so good to me. :)

Again, I am so sorry for the delay, and that this update isn't even a new chapter! Depending on how the poll goes (I should have it up for about a week or two), I'll eventually delete this author's note so newbies can read the story without interruption.

As always, I love you guys! Thanks for reading!

With endless cookie love,  
Christine :)


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